


Balance of Power

by NLRummi



Category: Dungeons and Dragons (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate episode, Canon Compliant, Challenge Response, DDCC, Gen, What if?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:36:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NLRummi/pseuds/NLRummi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate version of Episode 11:<i>The Box</i>. When the kids try to lead Venger back to the Realm, they find the portal is closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and ideas that are owned by others. Written for fun, not profit.
> 
>  **Rating:** PG
> 
>  **Author's Notes:** This story was originally written for the 2006 round of the D &DC Christmas Challenge, hosted by [Sealgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealgirl/pseuds/Sealgirl). It's set during Season 1 of the show, which means that only the action up to and including _The Box_ has taken place. However, some references (both vague and obvious) are also made to future episodes of the series in order to stay consistent with canon details. I hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **Acknowledgements:** Thank you to Sealgirl for taking the time to organize the Christmas challenges. They were always such fun, and resulted it such fantastic fandom contributions!
> 
> And a final shout-out to my friend Chance Saver, since I made a brief reference to "Loonyland", the name with which he dubbed the amusement park in his wonderful story _Zeitgeist_.

It didn't take long for Hank to realize something was wrong. Somewhere along the line, the ride had made more turns than he remembered; they'd passed more animatronic monsters than he recalled seeing the last time. And still nothing was happening.

There was no otherworldly tug; there was no illuminated tunnel. No portal, no stairway leading back to Xandora's box . . . There was nothing – except the ride.

The roller coaster car rounded the last corner and a thin outline of the light beyond the double exit doors loomed into view. Out of the corner of his eye, Hank could see Sheila lean forward against her safety bar. Her eyes were very wide and her expression was worried. She turned to meet his gaze and she blinked nervously.

Diana also turned to face Hank, just as the coaster made a dramatic slam through the exit and back into the night air of the park. "Do you think Xandora closed the box?" she asked.

Suddenly everyone was looking at him. Hank could feel the weight of their stares, but he had no answers for them. He was just as dumbfounded.

There were a few things he did know, however: The car was slowing to a halt, Venger had followed them back into the ride, their weapons didn't work here at home, and if they stayed here, they were sitting ducks.

"Everybody out!" Hank ordered as the coaster skidded to a squealing halt along the break run. "Run for it!"

The Young Ones scrambled out of the car as quickly as they could and made a dash for one of the clusters of bushes that landscaped the Fantasy Land section of the amusement park. They hunched down and glued their eyes to the Dungeons & Dragons ride, barely daring to breathe.

An eternal time seemed to pass while they watched and waited, although it was probably only a few short moments. Hank gripped his bow tightly – even though he knew it wouldn't be able to help him here – and fixed his eyes on the ride.

Soon Sheila's voice broke the silence. Her quiet whisper seemed too loud in the anxious quiet that had settled over the group. "Hank?" she asked. "Where is he?"

Hank shook his head. It took a moment before he could force himself to speak. "I don't know," he said.

"Maybe we tricked him," Bobby offered. The boy wasn't as cautious with his volume and it caused Hank to reflexively check the skies, as though they would be spotted and attacked at any moment. 

"Bobby! Shh!" Sheila scolded in a fretful hush. She must have had the same idea.

"But maybe we did," Bobby insisted, more quietly this time. "Maybe he thought we really _did_ go back to the Realm, so he followed us there."

Diana flashed Hank a look that was both hopeful and skeptical at the same time. "But if Xandora closed the box," she said, "how could he? Wouldn't he be trapped here?"

"Um, _hello_?" Eric interjected, although he too kept his voice low. "He's _Venger_! Since when did he need a stupid box to pop up wherever he wanted?" 

The Young Ones exchanged meaningful looks at that. Hank knew they were all thinking the same thing he was: If Venger had, indeed, transported himself back to the Realm – with or without the box – it meant that it was over.

They were home, and they were safe. For good.

A smile tugged insistently at a corner of Hank's mouth, but he was stubborn in his effort to keep it from spreading. Because if Venger was able to transport himself back to the Realm, that meant something else as well . . .

Hank silently rose to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Sheila asked. She quickly got up as well and stood beside him.

"To make sure," Hank replied. "If Xandora really did close the box and Venger can return to the Realm without it, then he can teleport himself back here just as easily when he learns we're not there."

"You're nuts!" Eric was on his feet now too, making no further effort to keep his voice down. "If he was going to do that, don't you think he would have done it by now?" Eric swept his arm outward, indicating the quiet emptiness of the park.

"There's only one way to be sure, Eric," Hank said.

"And just what do you plan on doing if you see him?" Eric snapped. "Wave your broken bow menacingly at him, or politely ask him to leave?" He stood toe-to-toe with Hank as the rest of the Young Ones gathered around them.

"Whatever I have to," Hank replied. "Venger only came here because of us. If there's a chance he might come back, we have to take care of it." He turned to run back toward the ride, but Eric caught his arm, jerking him back.

Hank was surprised for a moment. He looked down to where the Cavalier was tightly gripping his elbow. 

"Get real!" Eric countered. "We probably just missed the portal that led back to the box, that's all. When Venger gets back to the Realm, Dungeon Master's pint-sized partner will close the lid, and by the time Venger realizes he's been _Wile-E.-Coyoted_ into taking a wrong turn, we'll be home free."

"And what if he doesn't?" Diana stepped in. "What if he comes back here and decides he's going to destroy our world?"

"I still say if he was going to do that, he would have done it already," Eric shot back. "I also say we don't look a gift unicorn in the mouth. We're home. It's what we deserve after so long. Let somebody else worry about Venger for a change."

"And if he does find a way back here?" Hank pressed in a low voice. He looked from Eric's hand, which was still gripping his arm, up into Eric's face. The Cavalier looked angrier than usual.

"Then, O fearless leader, these dummies will probably follow you in there to take care of it," Eric replied, jerking his head toward the ride. His voice was also low, and uncharacteristically serious. "The weapons don't work here, and if you want to get everybody killed, then that's your business. But you can count me out." With that, Eric released Hank's elbow.

Hank was about to respond, when a sound in the distance cut off his train of thought. It was something none of them had heard for a very long time, but it was unmistakable. Each of the Young Ones looked around as the noise grew louder and closer.

"Sirens," Presto said. "I think it's the cops."

"And fire trucks, too, I think," added Bobby, listening.

"Oh, no," Eric groaned.

"But that's good, isn't it?" Sheila said to him. "Didn't you want the police here a few minutes ago?"

"That was when the eight-foot tall, one-horned maniac was on a rampage!" Eric wailed in reply. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to be the only ones here now – when the cops start wondering who vaporized the phone booth, and blew up the hot dog stand, and knocked over the ferris wheel . . ."

"For as much as I hate to say it," Diana grumbled, "Eric has a point. There's no way we'd be able to explain what happened. We should probably get out of here." She shared a significant look with Hank, who hesitated, then slowly nodded his head.

They made their way toward the exit quickly and quietly. By the time they reached it, several policemen and firefighters had already entered the park. A night security guard with a large ring of keys walked swiftly in front of them as they headed for Fantasy Land. 

Hank made a motion for the group to duck into one of the restrooms to keep out of sight. As he watched the police and firemen pass by their hiding spot, Hank was reminded of how many times he and his friends had been forced to find cover from packs of lizard men, or sneak quietly past troops of orcs. They must have gotten pretty good at it after so long – and now they were using their skills to hide from the cops in their own world. The irony of it wasn't lost on the Ranger.

When it looked as though the coast was clear, Hank signaled to the others behind him. The Young Ones headed toward the open gate of the park. Hank paused for a moment to check for guards—

 _No, not guards_ , he reminded himself. _We're home – not escaping Venger's fortress._ Hank was unsettled by how foreign that felt.

The group then moved through the exit and out into the night, leaving the park – and the ride – far behind them.

* * *

Sneaking back to his own home was easier than Hank would have thought. He hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been what he found when he arrived. 

The windows were all lit with a soft, reassuring glow and his parents' car was in the driveway. It was strange, but until that moment the Ranger hadn't even thought about his own car, which he now distinctly remembered driving to the park on the day they were transported to the Realm. In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind – probably because he and his friends had spent so long walking wherever they went. 

However, now that he remembered it, Hank was surprised to see an empty spot in the driveway beside his parents' car – where his own vehicle had once stood. Surely, since he and his friends had been missing for so long, his car would have been found and returned to the house by now. 

But as he approached his home, Hank knew he had bigger problems to face: What was he going to say to his parents after disappearing for what had to have been months? How would they react? How could he even begin to explain what had happened? They would never believe him. No one would . . . not about this.

Hank steeled himself, took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob.

As he entered the house, Hank was greeted by the sound of the television. And his mother's voice.

"Is that you, Hank honey?"

Hank felt just as he had the time he and his friends had been frozen by Kelek's magic: Suddenly, he couldn't move, he couldn't speak, and he could barely breathe.

"Hank?" The voice came from around the corner in the living room – the spot where Hank always remembered his parents sitting when they were watching TV together.

"Yeah," he finally answered. His voice cracked slightly. It sounded strange and surreal in his own ears. "Yeah, it's me."

"About time." This time it was his father's voice he heard. "That must have been some opening day celebration at the park. We expected you earlier than this, especially with school tomorrow."

Hank suddenly felt a little wobbly on his feet. _School. Tomorrow._ But it couldn't be . . . it just _couldn't_ be the same day they had left! They'd been trapped in the Realm for _months_! 

Hadn't they?

Hank's mind was a whirl of questions for which there was no other possible explanation: Even though so much time had gone by in the Realm, apparently no one in their own world had even noticed they were missing for more than a few hours. 

"You okay, son?" There was a telltale sound of his father rising from the sofa around the corner.

Hank glanced quickly down at his clothes and the bow in his hand and he started. His own disbelief was quickly put on hold. How many questions would he be forced to answer if they saw him like this? In a flash he had crossed the hall in front of the living room door and reached the stairway. 

"Fine," he called behind him as he went. "Just tired . . . and a little grimy from the park. I'm going to take a quick shower and then I'll be back down."

"All right," his father said, but Hank was barely listening as he took the stairs two at a time. He paused at the top and looked around. Everything felt like a dream. Hank could only hope the others had had similar luck.

* * *

The shower that Hank took was much longer than he had originally planned. He had simply forgotten how good it felt to bathe in hot water. By the time he was finished, his skin was pink and tender from the heat of it. It felt as though thousands of tiny needles were pinching his flesh. Hank had to admit: it felt wonderful.

When he was finished, and his uniform and bow were tucked safely beneath his bed, he went downstairs. As he turned the corner that led into the living room, he met the eyes of both his parents. They were sitting in their usual spot in front of the television, looking at him and smiling easily – as though nothing was different. 

Hank opened his mouth to say something but found that he couldn't force the words past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. He honestly hadn't realized just how much he had missed them.

His mother looked at him strangely, but still with an affectionate smile. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Hank replied. The words started to come a bit more easily, though he still had to work to keep some of the overwhelming emotion out of them. He didn't want his parents to think that anything was wrong, when quite the opposite was true. "I'm just tired," he added. "I'm going to go to bed, so I just wanted to say goodnight."

He walked over to his parents as they rose off the sofa and hugged each one of them in turn – probably a bit longer and tighter than he would have prior to being in the Realm. 

"Goodnight," he said, fighting the lump again. "I love you."

"Sleep well, honey," said his mother. "See you in the morning."

Hank nodded and smiled and began walking back toward the stairs – and the first real bed he'd slept in for months. 

A shrill, piercing noise stopped him in the doorway, and, for an instant, the Ranger returned. Hank spun on the balls of his feet, his right fist automatically gripping a phantom bow that was no longer in his hand. When the sound came again, Hank realized it was only the telephone.

The tenseness didn't leave his shoulders right away, though his parents didn't seem to notice anything was wrong. Hank still felt embarrassed. He scratched at his damp hair self-deprecatingly and mumbled, "I'll get it."

He picked up the handset from its cradle and cleared his throat before muttering, "Um, hello?"

"Hank?" Diana's voice rang clearly through the earpiece. 

"Yeah," he replied with a sigh of relief. For some reason, just hearing the voice of one of his friends helped him to relax a bit. It reminded him that he wasn't alone. "How did everything go?"

"Uh," Diana stammered, "it was weird. I had no idea it was going to be . . . you know." 

"The same day, yeah." Hank turned his back to his parents and tried to keep his voice conversationally nonchalant, as though he and Diana might have been discussing a school project. "Were you able to . . . um, . . . get everything okay?" Hank winced at the ridiculousness of the question.

"You mean was I able to get into my house without too many questions after we all left each other?" Diana clarified. She was obviously not within earshot of anyone. "Yes. It was almost too easy. And as far as I can tell, it went all right for the others too. But, Hank . . . that's really not the reason I'm calling."

Hank felt his shoulders tense up again. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I thought maybe you would have seen it by now," she replied. "I was in the shower for, like, an hour so Sheila had to call me twice before she was able to get through."

"Seen what?" Hank's heart felt as though it had dropped down into his stomach.

"Just turn on the news."

The hand holding the telephone dropped to Hank's chest as he hurried toward the television. He was certain that Diana could probably hear his heart hammering through the earpiece. With trembling fingers, he grabbed the dial and twisted it to the local news station.

"Hey," his father exclaimed from behind him, but Hank could only mutter a distracted apology as he straightened to his full height in front of the screen. 

The image was hauntingly familiar. It was the same backdrop he and his friends had witnessed in portal after portal back in the Realm – the amusement park. But this time there were several additions: police, fire trucks, an ambulance, and dozens of reporters. Hank felt his stomach clench even more as one of them addressed the camera in a businesslike voice:

" _. . . have gotten much of the damage cleared away by this point, but many questions still remain as to how the perpetrator was able to get into the park after closing hours. Police on the scene tell Newswatch 7 that there was no sign of forced entry, and members of park security have claimed to have witnessed nothing unusual throughout the early evening. Just how the vandal entered the park is still uncertain at this hour._

" _Most of the damage was found here: in and around the Dungeons & Dragons ride, a classic attraction located in the Fantasy Land section of the Loonyland Amusement Park. A spokesman for the local police told Newswatch 7 that they were responding to a report of an explosion called in by a neighbor in the downtown area. Upon arriving on the scene, officials found that the park's oldest ferris wheel and several booths had been either damaged or destroyed. _

" _One arrest has been made so far._ "

Hank slid involuntarily onto a chair as he listened, and the scene on the television changed from a live feed to a taped broadcast. The camera closed in on a truck with a large livestock trailer attached to it. Hank's mouth dropped open as he saw an enormous jet-black animal being loaded into it. The creature was snorting and struggling against the several men who had it tethered. Hank recognized it immediately. 

" _This was the scene earlier this evening," the reporter continued, "when, in an interesting twist to this story, Animal Control was called in to deal with a horse that the perpetrator allegedly brought with him to the park. The man believed to have caused the damage was discovered with the horse inside the Dungeons & Dragons ride, where, police tell me, even more damage has been found. Authorities have given no details as to the status of the animal at this time – only that it will be held at the Animal Control Center until further details as to its ownership can be determined._

" _As for the man, police on the scene have offered little information as to his possible motives, and have learned little about him. Purportedly, he has refused to give his real name, calling himself only 'Venger' and making terroristic threats to authorities on the scene. In a statement issued by police chief Carl Dunlavey, due to the mannerisms and dress of the perpetrator, connections between this crime and possible cult activity is not being ruled out. Due to the amount of damage found in the park, police also believe he was not working alone. The man is currently being held tonight at the Citywide County Prison. We will continue to follow this story as it unfolds._

" _I'm Whitney Williams, reporting live for Newswatch 7. Back to you, Brian._ "

Hank didn't know how long he sat there staring at the television after the report had ended. Nor did he know how long his parents had been asking him questions about whether or not he had witnessed any of this before he and his friends had left the park. All he did know was that he wouldn't be sleeping tonight – even if it _was_ the first real bed he'd been in for months.

 

_To be continued . . ._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You want to know for sure: You want to know if it was really him, and you want to know – once and for all – if this is just a trap."_
> 
> _Hank grinned ruefully. "Even if that means I'm walking right into it?"_

The next morning went by in a bit of a blur – at least until lunch when Hank was finally able to meet up with the others. Later it occurred to him that the events of the previous evening, strange as they were, may have been a blessing in disguise: he had been so preoccupied with what he had seen on the news he'd hardly had time to give any thought to how strange it was to be back in school again. Had he had the chance to think about it, he might have worried about the lessons he'd forgotten or the homework he didn't remember finishing. However, having spent the entire morning with Venger on his mind, Hank was spared the stress of thinking about his return to school until it was nearly over. He managed to slide beneath the radar for most of his morning classes.

At lunch, he met with the others. 

The weather was getting warmer so Hank headed outside to the school's courtyard with his lunch tray. Presto, Diana, Eric, and Sheila were already seated at a table that was a bit removed from everything else. As Hank approached, he saw that they had their heads together in deep conversation. Hank assumed, since they each had a class together at some point during the day, the others had already had the opportunity to touch base on the events of the previous evening. He was going to have to play catch-up. He felt sorry for Bobby, who went to school in the elementary center across campus and wouldn't be able to join them at all.

As Hank arrived at the table Eric turned, and Hank was taken aback slightly by the look on his face. Since last night, Hank had been uneasy over what he had seen on the television and what it could mean for them. He only assumed that the others were feeling just as apprehensive. And they probably were – except, apparently, for Eric, who sat at the lunch table grinning so broadly it looked like he'd won the lottery.

"Hey there!" Eric said happily, shoveling a forkful of his lunch into his mouth. "Beautiful day, huh?"

Hank noted the scornful look that Diana aimed at the Cavalier, although Eric seemed unfazed.

Hank slid into a seat beside Sheila and deposited his tray on the table.

"Do you think it was really him?" Presto asked him without preamble. He didn't need to explain; everyone knew what he was talking about.

Hank sighed heavily. "I don't know," he answered. 

Eric rolled is eyes at Presto and looked irritated, though his smile never completely vanished. "Give me a break," he droned. "Of course it was him; who else would it be? You heard the news last night, right? Because if you didn't catch it all, I taped it." He sat back with a self-satisfied expression on his face. "Who says there's nothing good on TV these days!"

Hank cast him an annoyed look. "The important thing to do now is figure out what happened."

"What's to figure out?" Eric groaned. "I think it's pretty obvious what happened. What I _don't_ understand is why we care. Hasn't Horn-Head thrown us into enough slave mines and volcano prisons since we had the severe misfortune of meeting the guy? Turnaround is fair play, you guys. So Venger cools his heals in the iron-bar motel for a while. He got off easy, if you ask me."

"Nobody _did_ , Eric," Diana said curtly.

"Didn't that broadcast worry you?" Sheila asked him, crossing her arms on the table.

Eric snorted. "No," he said. "Are you kidding? I felt like breaking out the popcorn and watching the late news just so I could see it again."

"But what if it's a trick?" Diana pressed.

Eric threw up his hands and Hank got the impression that the others had been through this quite a bit before he joined them.

"Diana, why do you keep trying to ruin this for me?" Eric shot back. "You tell me how it's supposed to be a trick." He leaned forward against the table and glared angrily at her. "You tell me how Venger trashing the amusement park and getting himself _arrested_ is supposed to be part of his master plan to steal our weapons and conquer the Realm. Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't seem like such a brilliant plan to me."

"We can't be so sure he's not biding his time," Hank replied judiciously, in an attempt to ease the tension. "You saw him at the park; he would have destroyed our world if we hadn't led him back into the ride. Venger has the power to break free anytime he wants, so why did he allow himself to get captured by the police."

"He's got to be up to something," Diana added.

Eric scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I just don't understand why you people insist on looking for problems when there aren't any. The way I see it, everybody made out on this deal: We finally made it home – no more trudging through that stupid Realm; no more taking orders from the Magic Munchkin Who Never Makes Sense. We saved that entire world by getting rid of Venger for them, Horn-Head's in the hoosegow, and his little pony is probably on its way to the glue factory by now. Everybody should be happy. _I_ certainly would be if you guys didn't insist on being such killjoys."

"You have to admit it's a little suspicious, Eric," Presto replied, as gently as he could. "Venger went on a rampage last night in the park. We thought he was going to try and destroy our entire planet – that's why we went back into the ride in the first place. Then he disappeared, and the next thing you know he's allowing himself to be caught by the cops. It just doesn't add up."

Eric stood up angrily, nearly pushing his chair over. "The only thing I _have_ to admit is how glad I am to be home," he growled. "That's all, end of story. If you dummies can't stop complaining about it, then that's your problem. Maybe you deserve to still be stuck in that Realm. But not me – no way. Now, if you'll excuse me, all this doom-and-gloom has made me lose my appetite." He picked up his tray and dumped the contents into the nearest trash bin. Then he walked away without a backward glance.

* * *

After school, Hank found himself walking in the opposite direction of his home. Instead, he thought he should go looking for his car. He eventually remembered that he hadn't used the amusement park's lot on the day he and his friends had been transported to the Realm; he had actually opted to park outside on the street to avoid closing-time traffic. That had been a stroke of unexpected luck – he wasn't sure what he would have done if the authorities had found the vehicle in the parking lot. Would they have come looking for him and the others about what had happened in the park last night? 

Hank had been relieved by the thought that he wouldn't have to answer any unwanted questions about the incident at the Dungeons & Dragons ride. So why had his feet led him in a different direction than where he thought he had wanted to go? Soon he was standing in front of the police station, unable to convince himself that this wasn't his planned destination from the very beginning. And yet, now that he was here, Hank couldn't move another step toward it.

"I had a feeling I'd see you here."

The voice snapped the Ranger back to reality and he glanced down the sidewalk to see Sheila standing a short distance away. Her face looked nervous, even as she squared her shoulders and approached him. Hank had to admit he felt an overwhelming sense of relief at seeing her there. 

"I don't know why I really came," he replied.

"I do," Sheila answered with a shrug. "You want to know for sure: You want to know if it was really him, and you want to know – once and for all – if this is just a trap."

Hank grinned ruefully. "Even if that means I'm walking right into it?" he asked.

Sheila placed a hand on his arm. "At least this way neither one of us will have to do it alone."

Hank's smile became more genuine at that, and Sheila gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He faced   
the police station again. 

"I just wish I could think of a good excuse to get in there," he said. "If we tell the cops that we know him, then they're going to wonder how. If we say that we don't, they're going to ask why we want to see him. Either way it's going to seem pretty suspicious."

"My cloak would come in handy here," Sheila mused. "Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

Hank nodded pensively.

"I guess we'll just have to use the next best thing," she added, holding up a small plastic card.

Hank looked at it and his eyes went wide. "This is a press pass for the school newspaper," he said.

"Some of the opening day festivities at the amusement park were sponsored by the high school," Sheila said. "It seems logical that the school paper would want an exclusive story about the man who trashed the park on opening day." She smiled. "Doesn't it?"

Hank grinned in response. "I didn't know you wrote for the school paper," he said.

Sheila's smile quirked, a little contritely. "I don't," she admitted. "But I did spend the last few months in the Realm as a thief." She placed the press pass into Hank's palm and shrugged. "I guess something stuck."

Hank looked down to where her hand still rested upon his arm, then covered it with his own. Together they made their way up the stairs to the police station door.

There was only one officer behind the desk when they entered. He barely looked up as the two teenagers approached him. "Can I help you kids?" he muttered as he scribbled something down on the forms in front of him.

"Uh, yeah. Hi," Hank began in greeting. "I'm Hank and this is Sheila. We write for the Mayfield High School newspaper." He laid the press pass down on the counter. "We were wondering if we could ask a few questions about the break-in at the park for our next edition."

The cop raised his eyes from his work and quirked an eyebrow at them. "The _school_ paper wants to cover this story?" he asked.

"A companion piece to the one about opening day at the amusement park," Hank replied. "The high school sponsored a lot of the activities, you know."

"Look, kids," the cop said wearily, "we've been getting a lot of calls about this particular case   
and I'll tell you the same thing I've told everyone else: we just don't have any more information at this time. What you saw on the television is basically the whole story."

"Oh, we understand," Sheila stepped in, "but our teacher keeps insisting that we do all the legwork ourselves. We're not supposed to just take information from other sources. You know how it is with teachers," she added with a melodramatic roll of her eyes. "They need all the details."

"We hate to make you repeat yourself again," Hank said. "I promise we'll keep it short."

Off Hank's and Sheila's pleading smiles, the cop relented with a good-natured shake of his head. "Fine," he said. "But just so you know: you can only print what's been released to the public so far."

Hank nodded and Sheila fished a small tablet out of her backpack in an attempt to look official. 

"What happened when you first arrived at the park?" Hank began.

"We responded to a call from someone who lives in the downtown area," the officer said. "They said they'd heard loud noises coming from inside the park – like explosions. When we arrived on-scene, we found that there had been quite a bit of damage done to the area around the center of the park – the section called Fantasy Land."

"And that's where you found the man – the trespasser?" Hank asked. He could hear Sheila scribbling away beside him, though he wasn't sure if she was really taking anything down, or she was only pretending to do it.

"We actually found him inside one of the rides," the officer replied. "The Dungeons & Dragons ride, to be exact. He was raving like a lunatic and had already done quite a bit of damage inside when we found him. They probably won't be able to re-open that ride again for a while."

"And we heard on the television that he had a . . . a _horse_ with him?" Sheila added. Hank could tell that she was attempting to inject just the right amount of incredulity into her voice.

"That's right," the cop replied. "Big, black thing. Mean as anything, too. The guy probably mistreated it something awful, what with the way it was thrashing around. It took several men from Animal Control to subdue it and keep it from hurting anyone – or itself."

"And where is it now?" Sheila asked. 

"Animal Control is taking care of it for now," the cop said. "Shame, though. It's a beautiful animal, but it looks like it will probably have to be put down. It's just too dangerous."

"And the man?" Hank said finally, holding his breath. "Can you tell us who he is?"

The cop shook his head. "The name he gave us is obviously fake – one of those overly-dramatic movie-villain fantasy names. Guy's a cultist, most like. He's a John Doe as far as we're concerned. At least for now, until we can dig up some kind of record. But he'll stay locked up for the time being."

"You can't tell us anything else about him?" Hank asked.

The cop paused, and Hank was worried he'd been too pushy. What if the officer started getting suspicious? Then the cop crossed his arms on the counter and leaned toward them. "Off the record?" he said. Then he glanced at Sheila. "You know what off the record is, right, honey?"

Sheila nodded. She folded her tablet shut and clicked the pen closed.

Satisfied, the cop nodded. "The guy really did a number on himself," he said. "The way he looks – pointed teeth, claws, and his skin looks almost _blue_. His eyes . . . at first we thought they were contact lenses but . . . they're red. I mean, _actually_ red. And he was dressed in this crazy outfit with a horn – something he probably could have gotten in a decent costume shop – but the _rest_ of it . . . Nightmarish is all I can say to describe it."

"So, you're saying what? He's not human?" Hank felt almost silly saying such a thing in front of someone who probably never would have believed in the Realm, but he still had to ask.

The cop looked irritated, though Hank couldn't tell if it was because of his question or the fact that the cop's own description had led to Hank asking the question. 

"Of course he's human, son," he assured them. "It's just . . . I can't understand why a person would want to do those kinds of things to their own body, that's all. The way he looks – you might not believe it, even if you saw it."

"Can we?" Hank asked quickly, without thinking.

The cop narrowed his eyes at them.

"It's completely off the record now," Sheila insisted, covering Hank's kneejerk reaction. "We just want to see him for ourselves. So many kids at school are really upset over what happened. We all worked really hard to sponsor a fun opening day at the park, and then this guy comes along and spoils it."

The officer looked hesitant. "I'm not sure that would be a good idea," he said. "The lockup in the back is just a temporary holding cell – it doesn't have any two-sided mirrors. He would see you too, and I'd rather not expose you kids to that kind of scumbag. Besides, you'd need your   
parents' permission."

"I'm 18," Hank said hurriedly as he fished his driver's license out of his wallet. "Please, officer. It would really help our friends at school feel better if I could just tell them that I saw the guy locked up with my own eyes."

The cop sighed and looked at Sheila expectantly. She shrugged her shoulders and gave a little shake of her head. "I'm only 17," she said, glancing at Hank. "I guess I'll have to wait out here."

"Well, I can't leave you out here alone, and I'm the only one on dispatch right now." He turned to Hank. "I can only give you five minutes. You understand, son?"

Hank nodded his head quickly. "I probably won't even need that long, officer," he said. "I just want a look. And, maybe, to ask him a question or two myself? If that's all right?"

"I suppose I can't stop you from talking to him, son," the policeman said gruffly. "Though I wouldn't advise it."

"I understand," Hank replied. "I'll be careful."

"Sign this, please." The policeman slid a spiraled book sharply toward Hank, and gestured to the pen that was attached to the Formica countertop by a chain. Hank assumed the book was a log with which to keep track of visitors. He hesitated for a moment, then signed his name, along with the time, into the first available space.

"Thank you, . . . Henry," the cop said as he slid the log book back toward him and glanced at the new entry – probably only really taking note of Hank's name for the first time. "Remember, he's not likely to tell you anything different than what we got out of him. So best I can say is keep it brief, Henry. No offense, but a high school paper is certainly not worth fraternizing with psychos. " 

Hank nodded with a grim smile.

"If it's all right with you, officer," Sheila said, directing the cop's attention at her, "I'd like to get your name and any other pertinent information. You know, so we can cite you properly in the article."

The cop nodded, though he still looked concerned. "Through the door at the end of that hall," he said distractedly to Hank. "I'll buzz you in."

Hank walked to the back of the room and down the short hallway the policeman had indicated. He stopped at a door that read LOCKUP. He waited a few moments until a loud droning buzz   
sounded above his head, followed by a dull click as the door unlocked. Hank took a deep breath, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

 

_To be continued . . ._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hank's first instinct was to raise his bow to defend himself. In its obvious absence, he felt naked and exposed as the evil creature turned to face him. He found himself clenching the fist that had once held his bow as the fingers of the other hand itched to draw the string._

The flickering dull light of the florescent bulbs on the ceiling cast an ominous glow on the room. The portions of Hank's mind that were still conditioned for the Realm bubbled with a threatened, edgy feeling. He felt as though he was walking into a dimly-lit cavern or a cell burning with eerie torchlight. But as he entered the room completely, that feeling changed.

The room consisted of nondescript, slate-gray concrete from floor to ceiling. The florescent bulbs cast a shadowless light upon the walls, seeming to drain any tint from the already sterile-looking surroundings. The large room was divided in half by a row of iron bars, which stretched across the room's length. The area beyond was sectioned off into three large separate cells, each lined with metal benches. In all probability, these cells merely served as communal holding tanks, and had the ability to accommodate several prisoners before they were either released or moved to the larger, more secure, county prison several miles away.

After being in the Realm for so long, Hank had expected a lot of things upon entering the jail: He had expected it to be dank and dungeon-like. He had expected to be assaulted by the protesting groans of mistreated prisoners. At the very least, he had expected a drop in temperature. But he was surprised to find that everything about the lockup – from the color to the atmosphere – was disturbingly . . . ordinary.

Everything, that is, except for the man standing alone in the first cell.

Hank started momentarily – probably because he had expected something more dramatic to happen before his eyes actually found what they had been looking for. Something more dramatic than being immediately greeted by the sight of Venger standing in a nondescript room, wearing nondescript prison-gray beneath dull and monochrome lighting that seemed to drain everything of its color.

Venger's back was to him, but there was no mistaking who he was. Not as far as Hank was concerned. He may have been divested of his recognizable garments – the black and crimson robes as well as the horn, which had all been replaced by a drab, single-piece jumpsuit – but Hank now knew beyond a doubt that his mind had not been playing tricks on him as he had watched the news last night.

Venger was here. On Earth. And separated from Hank by a mere two-arms-reach and a set of iron bars.

Under normal circumstances, Hank may have felt that was secure enough. Now, because this was Venger, he wasn't so sure. He felt vulnerable and exposed in the large room.

And yet, though Venger's identity was unmistakable to Hank, at the same time he looked so different. The first thing Hank noticed was his height – that hadn't changed, although the absence of his horned helmet detracted from it somewhat. Hank absently mused that it must have been difficult for the authorities to find a prison jumpsuit that fit. He also noticed for the first time that Venger had a long ponytail of white hair hanging down his back. This surprised Hank, although he had not known what else he might have expected. The surface of Venger's already fish-pale skin looked sunken and lifeless beneath the dull florescent lights on the ceiling.

Hank's appraisal of his surroundings, as well as the strange scene in front of him, had only taken a matter of moments, even though it felt much longer. He was startled out of his thoughts as the door to the lockup swung closed behind him with an ominous, and strangely loud, clack, and Venger turned his head toward the sound.

Hank's first instinct was to raise his bow to defend himself. In its obvious absence, he felt naked and exposed as the evil creature turned to face him. He found himself clenching the fist that had once held his bow as the fingers of the other hand itched to draw the string.

The instant Venger's eyes fell upon Hank, they seemed to flash an angry crimson. Hank squared his shoulders and remained still, defiant. If this was indeed a trap, he would know in a moment – and he'd be as ready as possible to face it. For a breathless instant, he was glad that Sheila had remained behind.

"You!" Venger's voice rumbled through the room. It seemed to crawl uncomfortably over Hank's skin. Venger took two slow strides toward the bars that separated them – a movement which, somehow, still seemed imposing, even without the garish swish of his old robes. He raised his hand against Hank. 

Once again, the Ranger's fist sought the feel and protection of his bow. His fingers continued to tingle, as though charged by the phantom fire of the absent bowstring. But he knew that even if he had his weapon – which no longer worked – he would be defenseless. He had known long before he had walked through the door. Now, he could only watch, and take a reflexive step back away from Venger's raised hand.

A hand which, in the end, merely gripped one of the iron bars that separated them – curling around it like a claw. 

Hank's shoulders jumped involuntarily. He had not realized he had been holding his breath.

Venger glared down at him with murderous contempt. "You," he repeated. "What have you done to me?" His voice was quiet, slow, but fierce in the intensity of its hatred. 

The question fell upon Hank's brain like a fog. His thoughts were thick and addled as he tried to process the meaning behind it. After a confused pause, he could only manage, "What?"

"Do not mock me with your feigned ignorance, Ranger," Venger demanded through gritted teeth. "How have you done this?"

"I . . . I haven't done anything," Hank replied. He really didn't understand. But the confused anger in Venger's demeanor gave him the courage to regain the ground he had surrendered a moment before. He took a step forward, to where he had originally been standing.

Venger stretched his hand beyond the bars, his palm facing Hank, his fingers curled and threatening. "I would strike you down where you stand, boy," he said, "even if you had not come to me unarmed. In this world, even with your weapon, you are vulnerable and weak. How, then, have you managed to block my power?"

Hank's lips parted slightly and he gave a little gasp. His eyes widened.

"Answer me, Ranger," Venger persisted. He gripped the bar again. "Was it you? Your accursed friends? Your soldier-allies who abducted my steed and incarcerated me in this iron cage? Tell me how you have managed this."

Hank breathed. "You lost your powers."

Venger scowled. "You try my patience, boy."

Hank let out another little breath of disbelief. One corner of his mouth curled into a tiny, involuntary smile. "You lost your powers," he repeated. This time it was less like a question.

"Tell me what you know, Ranger," Venger demanded, "or I shall—"

"But you can't do anything," Hank interrupted, his smile widening slightly. "That's just it." He took another bold step closer to the bars. When Venger did nothing but watch him scathingly, Hank felt a swell of relief so strong he thought he might actually start laughing. It was the first time since they had arrived back – the fist time since Venger's appearance had crushed their momentary joy at being home – that Hank finally felt completely safe. It was the first time home actually felt like home. 

"You're trapped in there," Hank continued with a little more confidence – more reminiscent of the Ranger, "because you couldn't do anything to prevent it. And if anyone would know how that happened, it should be you, Venger. You said yourself: our weapons don't work in this world. That's because there's no magic here. It makes sense that your powers would stop working too." He shrugged. "I guess it just took a little longer – maybe because they're actually part of you."

"When I am free of this prison and the spell upon me is broken," Venger growled, "you will suffer greatly for this insult, Ranger. As well as for your arrogance. I shall destroy your paltry world and enslave all those whom you hold dear."

"No, you _won't_ ," Hank said, a stab of anger rising hotly within him. "You're not going to hurt anyone. Not anymore. There's no spell on you, Venger. _You're_ the one who did this. You chose to follow us here to Earth; you wanted our weapons badly enough to risk coming to a world without magic and now this—" He spread his arms to indicate the cell around them. "—is the result. How many times have you taken our weapons in your world? And now you're trapped without your powers in ours. Maybe it's poetic justice. Except you know what? Eric was completely right: you're actually going to have it easy, compared to what you put us through. No slavery, no volcano prisons – just quiet incarceration in an ordinary world. But I guess, for someone like you, Venger, that might even be worse."

Venger glared at Hank, his crimson eyes flashing with loathing, but Hank did not shrink away. He stared back with just as much defiance as he had ever shown as a Ranger in the Realm. Finally, after what felt like several minutes, Venger drew closer to the barrier between them, curling his other hand around one of the bars. "Fool," he hissed. "You will pay for this."

Hank shook his head, as one might at a pitiful creature or a thrashing, petulant child. He started to back away, heading for the door. 

"You know," he said as he stopped, "it's amazing, but Eric was actually right about something else: I _can_ be happy now. All this time we thought you'd gotten yourself caught because you were planning something. But now—" He grinned broadly. "—I can leave here and never worry about you again. And we can all just be glad to be home." He turned, losing complete sight of Venger, and reached for the door handle.

" _Ranger_!" a rumbling voice thundered from behind him. "You _will not_ turn your back on me!" Hank could hear the cell door rattle as if it had been ineffectually jerked. "RANGER!"

Hank stepped unceremoniously through the exit without a backward glance. It slammed shut behind him with the heavy finality of a dungeon door, and Hank's mind blocked out all sound emanating from the other side. He stopped briefly in the silent hallway beyond the lockup and took a deep settling breath. Then he walked quickly toward the front desk, where he had left Sheila.

She looked up as he approached and Hank swore he could see an intense anxiousness on her face. He smiled at her from across the room and he could literally see the change in her. She smiled back, her face awash with relief. Her shoulders rose and fell dramatically as she seemed to release all the dread she must have been fighting up until this moment. She was no longer paying any more attention to the policeman who was, apparently, still speaking to her. He must have noticed because he turned and his eyes also found Hank.

"That didn't take long," he remarked casually.

Hank shook his head and walked back to the other side of the desk to stand beside Sheila. She discreetly gripped two of his fingers and he returned the pressure with a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't think it would," he replied. "I just needed a look. Thank you, officer, I appreciate it. My friends will too."

"Glad I could help ease the minds of the Mayfield High student body," the cop said as he slid the log book back over to Hank. "If you'll just sign out here, please . . ."

Hank did. Then he looked at Sheila. She was studying him with what looked to be a mixture of happiness and uncertainty on her face. Her eyes even shone a little with traces of unshed tears. Hank gave her hand – which was still in his – another little squeeze, and mouthed the words, _It's over_.

Hank didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful smile.

"Let's go," he said and he put his arm around her shoulders. They turned and walked together through the doors.

Behind them, Hank could hear the policeman speak, "Hey, you know. I wouldn't mind getting a copy of the article when your next edition comes out."

But neither Hank nor Sheila replied as the police station doors swung shut behind them.

* * *

"I . . . I don't believe it." Diana slouched back against the foot of the king-sized bed, shaking her head and grinning.

The group had assembled early that evening. After leaving the police station, Hank and Sheila had called everyone, saying that they needed to talk as soon as possible. It was ultimately decided that they would meet at Eric's house and – since they needed a place that was big enough for all six of them, where they would not be disturbed or overheard – his large bedroom provided the easiest and most immediate location. Currently, the majority of the group was seated in a circle on the thick area rug in the center of the room, while Eric lounged on the bed. 

Hank recounted the events at the police station for everyone, some details of which even Sheila was hearing for the first time. When he finished, a quiet astonishment hung over the group for several long seconds until Diana spoke.

"I just don't believe it," she repeated. Her grin widened even more. "Are you really sure, Hank?"

"Yeah," Hank replied. "I was right in front of him. If Venger had been setting a trap for us, he had the perfect opportunity to act on it. I was completely unprotected, except for the bars, and if his powers had been working that wouldn't have been much of an obstacle."

"Gnarly," Bobby breathed, clearly impressed.

"What did I tell you guys?" Eric said with a distinct air of self-satisfaction as he leaned back against the headboard. "Didn't I tell you there was nothing to worry about?"

Diana rolled her eyes from where she sat at the foot of the bed.

"What I can't believe is that you went there alone," Presto said as he leaned forward against his crossed legs. "Maybe you should have told us. We could have all gone together."

"I hadn't actually intended to go there when I set out," Hank replied. "I was really going downtown to get my car. I just sort of . . . ended up there. And besides," he added with a glance at Sheila, "I wasn't alone."

She cast him a slight smile and turned back to the others. "It may have been a little suspicious if we all paraded in there anyway. The policeman behind the counter was a little reluctant to talk to us as it was. If we showed up in droves as though we were visiting a sideshow exhibit, he may not have let any of us in."

"Still," lamented Bobby, "I wish I could have seen the look on old Horn-Head's face. To think of _him_ as the one behind bars for a change . . ."

"And completely without his powers too," Diana said. "That must be—"

"Scary," completed Sheila.

"I'm sorry, what?" Eric interjected, leaning forward and away from the headboard.

"I'm just saying," Sheila clarified, "we know how that feels: being trapped in another world, alone. And then to have the only way of protecting ourselves taken away – like when our weapons lost their powers and had to be recharged, or whenever they were stolen from us . . ."

"And may I remind you that it was _Venger_ who did most of the stealing?" Eric retorted.

Sheila looked at him a little impatiently, then sighed. "I'm not saying he doesn't deserve it; all I'm saying is that we know how he must be feeling."

"Do we _care_ about Venger's feelings?" Eric asked. "Is that something we're caring about now?"

Diana waved her hand through the air as though brushing Eric's comments aside. "What else did you find out?" she asked.

Hank noticed that Sheila's little tablet was on the floor in front of her. Apparently she actually had been taking notes while the cop had been describing the situation in the park. Hank listened as she recounted any leftover details from what they had learned that afternoon.

"It's just strange," said Presto when she finished. "Venger still had his powers the last time we saw him coming back into the ride. How could he have suddenly lost them?"

Bobby shrugged. "His batteries must have just gone dead," he said.

"I don't think Venger has batteries, Bobby," Sheila countered with a soft smile.

"Sure he does, sis," Bobby insisted. "It's like when you plug something in and it works great. But then when you unplug it and it starts running off the batteries, it only lasts for so long."

"That's actually . . . " Presto mused, ". . . a really great way of looking at it. When Venger was separated from the Realm, it was like his plug had been pulled. His powers were running on borrowed time until he managed to get back to his own world."

"Which he didn't," Diana added. "So now he's stuck."

"Dead batteries," Bobby shrugged. "Just like our weapons."

"He seemed really surprised to be in that situation too," Hank said. "He was blaming us, but from the sound of it, he had no idea that would happen to him."

"Wow," Presto breathed as he slumped against the wall. "So, now what do we do?"

Eric clapped his hands loudly and rubbed them together. "Now, I say we do a little celebrating, that's what!" He bounded off the bed and stepped over random limbs stretched across his bedroom floor on his way to the door. "We're home, and that's all that matters. I say we don't talk about Venger any more for the rest of the night. Or ever."

"Can we talk about your apparent crush on Jennifer Beals instead?" Diana asked, jamming her thumb in the direction of a poster on Eric's wall. "I never knew you were a _Flashdance_ fan." She snickered.

"Ha, ha. Very funny," he retorted.

Hank grinned. Even with the teasing, he could get used to this. They were home, they were safe, and that was what mattered.

"No. I thought some celebratory beverage might be in order," Eric continued as he made his way to the door. "My dad usually keeps plenty in the cabinet of his study. He won't miss just one."

Sheila glanced fretfully at the group and, in particular, at Bobby. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Eric," she said.

"Bah!" Eric replied. "We just got home after surviving everything from dragons to squid-monsters to zombies to slave mines. Not to mention one particularly cranky one-horned-warlock who had some kind of personal grudge against us. You think a little celebratory champagne is going to make a difference? Come on, I know where my father keeps the good stuff." He left the room before anyone could argue further.

Hank shook his head, but with a good-natured smile.

A few minutes later, Eric returned – a stack of glasses in one hand, and an expensive-looking bottle of champagne in the other. The group stood up to face him as he walked in the door. He was making a one-handed effort to fumble with the foil that covered the top of the bottle.

"This better have one of those corks that you can pop out instead of unscrew," he said. "I don't know where Dad keeps the corkscrew, so I hope we'll be able to get it open."

He looked up at them, and the bottle slipped from his hand. It smashed to pieces on the floor.

"I suppose that's one way to do it," Diana remarked bemusedly. 

Eric didn't look at her. He didn't look at any of them. Hank noticed that he was staring past them. Everyone else must have noticed the same thing because they turned, as one, to face the inner-portion of the room.

Standing there, just beyond the foot of the bed, was Dungeon Master.

 

_To be continued . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case of curiosity or confusion, for the purposes of this story, Venger's wings are part of his cape, rather than a physical part of his back. It would just cause too many narrative problems the other way around.
> 
> Also, the battery discussion between Sheila and Bobby is a re-visitation of a similar conversation from _The Hall of Bones_. It seemed an appropriate reprise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The thing that surprised Hank the most was probably the fact that he wasn't surprised. Not at first – not really._

The thing that surprised Hank the most was probably the fact that he _wasn't_ surprised. Not at first – not really.

Dungeon Master had appeared suddenly in their midst countless times during their months in the Realm – and often in the strangest of places. Seeing him now, in the middle of Eric's bedroom – even if he did look uncharacteristically serious – almost seemed a natural occurrence.

It was only after the vision settled into Hank's brain that the strangeness of it finally registered: They weren't _in_ the Realm anymore.

"D-Dungeon Master?" he said at last. "What are you doing here?"

"Greetings, my friends," the old mage replied. His voice seemed sad. In it, there was an almost too-obvious attempt at cheerful enthusiasm. It left Hank feeling uneasy. 

"It pleases me to see that you are all safe, and finally settled in your home world," Dungeon Master continued. "I am proud of you."

"Um, thanks?" Presto said. He probably hadn't intended for it to sound like a question, but, apparently, the old man's appearance had left them all a little thunderstruck.

"Thank you, Dungeon Master," Sheila said. She seemed the quickest to collect herself after the shock of seeing him there. She stepped forward and got down on her knees to the old man's level. "Thank you for helping us to find Xandora. We couldn't have made it home without you." Her fingers reached toward him in a gentle gesture of gratitude, but they passed right through his shoulder.

For an instant, Dungeon Master faded out and back in again like a faulty movie projection. Sheila pulled her hand away and covered her mouth with it, gasping sharply. Hank joined her on the floor just in time for the Dungeon Master to quickly reappear. Their former guide seemed solid enough, but his presence was, apparently, nothing more than an illusion.

"Forgive me for startling you, my children," he said. "What you see is but an image of my form. As you may have come to realize by now, I cannot physically materialize in your world without risking the loss of my powers."

"Yeah, we noticed," Presto replied. "Too bad Venger didn't know that before he followed us here." He grinned and crossed his arms with an air of triumph.

Dungeon Master nodded in response and smiled. However, it did not reach all the way to his eyes, which usually twinkled when the old mage smiled. To Hank, the expression looked even more grim than a frown. 

"Did you come to say goodbye?" Bobby interjected before Hank could say anything. "Did you see Uni? Is she all right?"

The Dungeon Master did smile more genuinely at that as he turned to face Bobby. He gave the boy a low nod. "She is fine, Barbarian," he replied. "She misses you very much, but she is fine."

"And Xandora?" Diana asked, stepping forward. "I don't think we thanked her properly; everything happened so quickly."

"My old friend is also well," Dungeon Master answered. "She is grateful to you for your help, my friends, and she is as happy as I am to know you are safe in your own world."

Hank frowned. Maybe he was imagining things, but the Dungeon Master really didn't . . . _look_ happy.

"Dungeon Master?" he finally said gently. "Is everything all right?"

The old man sighed and cast his eyes downward. The façade of his smile vanished from his face. "Yes," he answered. "And no."

"Give me a break," Eric muttered. 

Hank shot an irritated look over his shoulder and saw the former Cavalier cross his arms impatiently, glaring at the Dungeon Master. 

"What?" Eric said as he turned his eyes to Hank with an annoyed scowl. "We made it through his little maze of monsters, didn't we? Is it too much to ask for him to give the stupid riddles a rest now?"

Hank only responded with an angry look and turned back to the image of the Dungeon Master. "What happened, Dungeon Master?" he asked.

The mage sighed again. Hank had never seen him look so filled with despair. After a moment the old man raised his eyes and addressed the group of assembled Young Ones. "The Realm has met with difficult times since your departure, my young friends," he said. "Many kingdoms have fallen into ruin."

Diana took a sharp breath. "What do you mean?" she asked. "How could that have happened?"

"Yeah," Presto added. "We all thought that without Venger around to cause so much trouble things would have gotten better."

Dungeon Master nodded grimly. "It is true that Venger's presence no longer troubles the Realm," he said. "When he pursued you into your world, the time allotted for him to return was limited. He may not have been aware of this. Nevertheless, when that time expired, the effect of your world took hold and his powers were forfeit. Much like that of your weapons."

"Yes," Sheila confirmed. "He's trapped here."

"And our weapons don't work either," Bobby added.

Dungeon Master set his lips into a thin line. He continued with a dour expression. "Unfortunately, Venger's accidental confinement in your world was something I had not foreseen. It was a grave error on my part, I fear, because although Venger is gone, his evil forces remain."

Hank's brow knitted with concern. "What does that mean, Dungeon Master?" he asked.

"Yeah," Presto added. "If Venger is gone, wouldn't that mean the people of the Realm are free?"

Dungeon Master shook his head. "I wish it were that simple, Magician," he said sadly. "Venger was a far more powerful sorcerer than you may even realize. The source of his evil, as well as his hold on the Realm, was something even I could not hope to break. You, however, have been fortunate enough to defeat him time and again. This was partially due to the power in your weapons, but in larger part to the strength of your innocence and the purity in your hearts. It created a natural balance, which was necessary to keep Venger's evil in check. Now, however, a destructive force devastates the Realm – one, I fear, even more powerful than Venger himself."

"What is it?" Sheila asked in a small, worried voice.

"Chaos, my children," the Dungeon Master replied gravely. "In Venger's absence, the countless legions of evil, which were once controlled by his power, are overrunning the Realm. Without Venger's magic to control the chaos they are creating, and maintain the universal balance, our world will continue to fall into disorder – until there is nothing left."

"That's terrible!" Sheila exclaimed.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Eric countered. Once again Hank shot him an angry look, but Eric replied with one of his own. "Oh, come _on_ ," he insisted to Hank. "We squared off against old Horn-Head dozens of times in the Realm – and always doing something _he_ told us to do." The Cavalier pointed an accusing finger at the image of Dungeon Master. "Then, by some stroke of brilliant luck, we manage to get rid of the guy permanently and _listen_ to him! He's actually _complaining_ about it! Talk about being ungrateful!"

"Eric!" Diana snapped, but he ignored her.

"Why are you here?" he asked Dungeon Master. There was a dark edge to his voice.

The ancient mage cast his eyes downward. Hank thought he looked ashamed.

"My pupils – my friends," he said, "it is not within my power to stop the force that threatens to overtake the Realm – not when that force is a disruption in the very balance of our universe. My power can only counter so much. I am afraid the only thing that can restore order to our world is restoring that which was lost."

"You mean Venger," Presto guessed. "As long as Venger is around to control his troops, nature won't go all out of whack."

Dungeon Master was silent, but Hank got the impression that Presto was right.

"There's more though, isn't there?" Eric said, still hostile. "That's why you're acting so guilty, isn't it?"

Dungeon Master finally looked back up at them. His eyes were very sad. "I do not have the power to correct this on my own," he said. "There is too much flux in the natural balance. Your weapons' presence in the Realm had once enabled me to draw upon more energy as I needed it, but now that power is gone as well."

"That's why you would ask us to leave our weapons behind whenever we found a portal that might take us home," Diana said. "Their power is tied to the Realm."

"And to you," Sheila added.

"I have no right to ask this of you," Dungeon Master murmured, shaking his head slowly. "You have done all that I have ever asked of you, and you have earned your reward: your home, and your peace. However, the fact remains that the only way to save the Realm – the only way to heal the universal balance and restore the power that was lost – is if you bring it here yourselves."

The children were quiet for what felt like a very long time. Finally, Presto spoke.

"You mean," he said in a cracked voice, "we'd have to return to the Realm."

"And we'd have to bring Venger and the weapons with us," Hank concluded. He glanced at Eric out of the corner of his eye. The Cavalier seemed to be fuming silently, but he didn't look as though he was preparing any sort of outburst. At least not yet.

"I am sorry, my children," Dungeon Master replied. "I wish there were some other way. Please know, however, that this is your decision. As Dungeon Master of the Realm, it is my duty to seek out the means by which to save my world. You, however, are under no such obligation. You no longer have ties to this Realm and you have earned the right to live, undisturbed, in your own world. The choice . . . is yours."

After another eternal pause, Hank took a deep breath. "Dungeon Master . . . " he began.

The old man held up his hand. "This is not a decision to be made hastily, Ranger. I shall leave you to do that on your own. But know this: should you decide to return, you must recall a lesson which you have previously learned. Then look to yourselves – for you carry your way with you."

"What does that mean?" Bobby muttered, but Sheila shushed him discreetly.

"If you should decide not to return," Dungeon Master concluded, "know that I understand, and do not begrudge you your just reward. I meant what I said, my children: I am so proud of you."

Each of the children looked from the ancient mage to each other. Silence hung heavy in the room. Finally, Hank shook his head. "Dungeon Master," he said, "we can't just let you—"

But the room in front of them was now empty, as though the old man had never been standing there.

"He's gone," Hank murmured quietly.

Sheila reached tentatively toward the spot where the Dungeon Master had been standing. "And for good this time if we don't do something," she added.

"So what _are_ we going to do?" Diana asked.

"Do?" Eric replied with a bitter laugh. Everyone turned to him. "You mean you guys are actually considering it?"

"Eric," Diana said. Hank could tell she was trying to speak gently, but there was a clear, angry edge to her voice. "Didn't you hear what he said? The Realm is being destroyed. Tell me _you're_ actually considering sitting back and doing nothing?"

"I'm not considering," Eric rounded on her darkly. "I've pretty much decided."

"How can we not help them?" Presto asked his friend.

Eric scowled. "Look, Presto, the way I see it DM said one thing that made sense to me the whole time he was here: After everything we've been through in that place, we _earned_ our trip home. So now he wants to suck us back in because the Dungeon Master can't handle a little orc infestation problem? I don't think so."

"But we know what orcs can do," Sheila said, almost imploring him. "And lizard men and bullywogs . . . and how many other evil things that Venger controlled that we've never even seen! If they're all running rampant through the Realm, and only Venger's power can restrain them—"

"Maybe Eric's right."

Five pairs of eyes turned to Hank as he spoke. A dead silence filled the room. Everyone looked shocked – Eric most of all.

"Hank," Sheila said in a small voice. She took a pleading step toward him and touched his arm. "You can't mean . . . "

Hank offered her a grim smile and placed his hand on hers. "I didn't mean that we shouldn't help," he said. "I just meant that Eric has a point: We don't all need to risk our lives. If the Realm needs Venger and the weapons back, I'll bring them myself."

"What?" Bobby exclaimed. "No way!"

Sheila's eyes were wide with terror. She shook her head mutely. Most of his friends shared the same expression.

"It might work," Hank explained. "I can just take the weapons and—"

"And just how do you plan on using them all?" Diana took a step forward, as Sheila had, but her eyes had become angry. "I understand that you're trying to protect us, Hank, but what you're suggesting is not even an option. We never deserted each other back in the Realm; we're not going to do it here. If you're going, so am I."

"And me!" Bobby drew himself up to his full height, his young face set and determined.

"Bobby, no," Sheila insisted. "You should stay here."

"No way, sis," the young boy countered with a resolute shake of his head. "We've faced loads of scary stuff in the Realm. You think I'm going to let you all go back without me and my club to protect ya?"

Sheila smiled but looked tearful. "Let's do it then," she said quietly to Hank.

"Presto?" Diana asked as she turned to face him.

The young Magician glanced quickly at Eric, then back to the others. He nodded. "I'm in," he said.

The group of five turned to Eric at last, who still stood near the doorway of his room. Hank saw that his fists were clenched.

"Eric?" Presto asked tentatively. "What are you going to do?"

"Me?" he replied. Hank thought he suddenly sounded very calm. Eric glanced down at the broken bottle of champagne that lay in a puddle at his feet. "I'm going to get a mop." He turned toward the door. "I think you all know the way out."

* * *

As far as Hank was concerned, the worst part was knowing they didn't have much time to develop a plan. When they had returned from the Realm, only a few short hours had passed here in their world. Who knew how much time had gone by there during the two days they were home. Or how many horrible things may have happened since they saw Dungeon Master last night. The Ranger knew that if they were going to try to save the Realm, they had to act – and they had to do it today.

Hank met with his friends again at lunch. This time, Eric's obvious absence was almost palpable. Bobby, however, had managed to sneak over from the elementary center across campus. He attempted to wedge himself among them, out of sight, as the group of Young Ones huddled around the small courtyard table.

Presto's head was in his hands. "This has got to be the worst idea we've ever come up with," he mumbled.

"I know," Hank agreed. "But what choice do we have?"

"Hank," Diana said, "we need to be very sure about this. We're talking about committing a felony here."

"I _know_ ," Hank repeated. He felt exasperated. "Believe me, I know that."

It had been on his mind for hours: how to get Venger back to the Realm. It was, without a doubt, the most difficult task they had ever faced – in this world or any other. Because returning Venger to the Realm also meant getting him out of jail and away from the police. Hank had no idea how they were going to manage that. It had been difficult enough just getting in to see him without raising suspicion. Finding a way for him to leave with them was going to be next to impossible. 

There was also the simple fact that Venger hated them. Hank didn't hold a great deal of hope for his cooperation.

"I wish we had more time to be strategic about this," Hank said, "but the fact is we don't. For every minute that goes by here the Realm is losing days, maybe even weeks. If we don't do this now it will be too late. It could be already."

Diana nodded. "I understand," she said. "We all do. We just have to be very sure about this, because breaking Venger out of jail – if we get caught, we may not have a home to come back to."

Hank grunted. He had thought about that as well. In fact, he hadn't slept for thinking about it. There was no denying the fact that what they were planning was a criminal act. If they were caught, even if they somehow managed to get away and return to the Realm, they may never be able to come back home. Not to a home that was welcome and warm, anyway. If they were caught, things here would never be the same.

Hank had tried to talk himself out of going through with this countless times over the past several hours. But the fact of the matter was it was the right thing to do. This world may not understand that, but Hank did. He knew his friends, for all their words of caution, did too.

Or, at least, most of them did.

"It's not a pretty plan, but it might work," Hank said. "Getting to Venger is our biggest concern right now. As for figuring out how Dungeon Master intended for us to get back to the Realm – we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

"Are you sure we can't do whatever it is we have to do right from the jail cell?" Sheila asked. "Maybe we won't have to get Venger away from the police at all."

"No, I'm not sure," Hank answered. "But for some reason I don't think so. Everything we've done has been tied to that park – and that roller coaster. Whatever we have to do to get back to the Realm, I think it has to be from there."

"Okay," Presto said, sitting up straight, "let's go over this again."

"You and I go into the station," Hank said to Presto. "I didn't notice a keyhole in Venger's cell door when I was there yesterday, so it must be electronic. You may be the only one who can figure out how to get it open. 

"Sheila, you and Bobby will be outside by the pay phone. If we need more time, you may have to call in a distraction. If that doesn't work, improvise. We need enough time to get Venger out of there."

Sheila nodded and looked at her brother. Her face seemed extremely nervous.

"Diana . . ." Hank continued.

"I know what you want me to do, Hank, and I don't like it," she said, shaking her head.

"We're going to need a way out of there or the whole thing is blown," Hank replied.

"If you run into trouble, I should be in there to help you," she countered, gently but insistent. "Even without my javelin I can fight. You know I can."

"I know," Hank said. "And the fact that I'm hoping it won't come to that doesn't mean it won't happen. But you're the only one besides me with a car; we're going to need you outside waiting for us. And the cops have already got a record of me visiting Venger. The fewer of us they can actually identify the better."

"I'll do it, but I still don't like it," Diana answered. She shrugged and offered Hank a wan half-smile. "I'm not sure if Tall, Pale, and Gruesome is going to fit into my beetle."

Hank smiled back. It was weary but genuine. "We'll make it work."

Finally, he took a deep breath. "We'll wait as long as we can before going," he said. "I don't know what time visiting hours end at the jail, but we don't want to try this in broad daylight. We'll go as close to sundown as we can. In the meantime, bring anything you think you might need: the weapons definitely, and any supplies you can carry for the trip back to the Realm. We won't be able to bring much, but we can at least try to be more prepared than we were the last time." He looked at each of his friends in turn. "Is there anything we're missing?"

"Eric . . ." Presto said.

Hank clenched his jaw. He hated to have to be the one to drive home the fact that that was probably a lost cause – even if he didn't want to believe it himself. But when he looked at Presto, to try to put it as delicately as possible, he saw that his friend was staring past him. 

Hank turned to follow Presto's gaze, and saw Eric standing there.

The former Cavalier stood a short distance away, a sour expression on his face. Over one shoulder, he had slung a backpack, in his opposite hand swung another. He shifted his weight as the group stared at him. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Hank replied.

Another shift of his weight and Eric hefted the backpack that he had grasped in his hand, then allowed it to swing alongside his leg once more. "So," he muttered, "are you all still planning to do what I think you're going to do?"

Hank nodded grimly. "Yeah," he answered.

Eric nodded in response. "It's a stupid idea," he said dryly. "You know that, right?"

"What do you care?" Bobby spat bitterly.

A flash of anger crossed Eric's face. His brows knitted in a deep scowl and his lips pursed. "I guess I don't," he said. He marched forward and deposited the bag, which had been in his hand, onto the bench beside Hank. "I just figured you'd probably be needing that. It's not like I want it anymore."

He turned on his heel without waiting for a response. He trudged away from the table and back into the school, shifting the weight of the bag on his shoulder as he went.

When he had disappeared into the building, Hank glanced at the bag Eric had left behind. He reached for the zipper and slid it open. Inside, gleaming in the afternoon sun, was the golden face of the Cavalier's shield.

* * *

Hank felt that horrible pressure in his throat again that evening as he said goodbye to his parents. As far as they knew, he was simply meeting with some friends for a few hours, and that was how Hank preferred to leave it. He hugged both of them, saying as little as possible – not because he didn't have a million things to tell them, but because he didn't know how. He had toyed with the idea of leaving a note, just in case, but dismissed it. He felt that doing so would be like admitting they might not make it home again next time. 

Besides, how could he even begin to explain what he was about to do? Or why?

It was nearly dusk when he met his friends a short distance from the jail. Each of them had brought their weapon, as well as a bag with some supplies and the clothes they had worn in the Realm. After placing each of these into the trunk of Diana's car, they separated and took their positions around the police station.

A few minutes later, Hank took a deep breath as he stood before the front doors with Presto at his side. He glanced at the corner to his right where Diana waited with her car. She turned around in the driver's seat and gave him an anxious wave through the window. Hank could tell  
she was still not happy about being left outside. He reciprocated her hand gesture and glanced to his left, where Sheila and Bobby stood. They were peeking around the corner from beside a nearby pay phone. Even from this distance, Hank could see that Sheila was also worried. Nevertheless, she smiled and gave him an encouraging nod.

Hank finally looked down at Presto. "You ready?" he asked. 

He could actually see Presto's Adam's apple bob dramatically as the young man swallowed. "Yeah," he answered. His voice cracked noticeably.

Hank placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Let's go then," he said. Together they stepped toward the station door. There was no turning back now.

As they walked into the police station, Hank gave the room a cursory glance. The situation was probably the best they could have hoped for: the front office was quiet, there was one cop behind a desk in the far corner, and the phones were silent. There was an overall sense of minor activity and Hank was grateful for it – because in a short time there was going to be a whirlwind of activity. It would be a lot more difficult with a roomful of cops rather than just one.

"Something I can do for you kids?" The policeman sitting at the desk had noticed them. After a moment, Hank realized it was the same cop who had spoken to him and Sheila the day before.

"Uh, hi," Hank began, unsure of how to proceed.

The policeman stood up from his desk and began to make his way toward the front counter. "I know you," he said. "You were here yesterday. Henry, was it?"

Hank's heart sank a little. The cop even remembered his name. "Yes, sir," he replied. "Good to see you again." He groped for something more substantial to say, then remembered Presto at his side. "This is my friend Preston."

"P-Preston Myers, sir." Presto offered his hand and the policeman shook it.

"Work for the school paper too, do you, Preston?" the officer asked.

"I . . . I'm the editor, sir," Presto answered with only minor hesitation. Hank was impressed with his quick thinking.

"So what brings you boys out here?" the cop asked. "Bit late for newspaper work, isn't it?"

"Not when you're on a deadline," Presto grumbled with a roll of his eyes. His voice gained a bit more confidence, but his feet shifted awkwardly on the floor.

"Apparently, there was a _problem_ with the _article_ ," Hank said, falling into step with their cover story. He directed his comment sarcastically at Presto, but with encouraging emphasis on certain words.

"Well . . . you know . . . it doesn't look like there's going to _be_ an article," Presto shot back. He crossed his arms and adopted an air of haughty, if a bit nervous, superiority. Hank gave him an encouraging nod that was barely noticeable, and Presto managed to continue. "Anyway . . ." he added, "not with the information you collected. It hardly seemed credible."

"Well, we sure didn't need to come all the way downtown for you to tell me that _again_ ," Hank retorted. "I told you: the guy didn't say anything to me. What was I supposed to print?"

Presto shrugged pretentiously. His comfort level seemed to be improving. "According to Sheila, you weren't in there that long," he said. "Doesn't sound to me like you were trying too hard."

"You didn't see him, okay, Preston?" Hank shot back. "The guy was a freak! The sooner I got out of there, the better. Like I told you back at the office: if you think you can get more out of him, _you_ go in there an talk to him."

Presto shook his head. "If I do this interview, I . . . I'm going to have to take over your whole article."

"You think I care?" Hank grumbled. "This whole thing has already caused me more trouble than it's worth. And now this is the second time I've been in this police station in two days."

The cop, who had listened to the volley of words without interrupting, finally let out his breath in a whoosh. "You take this school newspaper thing pretty serious, don't you?"

Presto turned his attention to the policeman and shrugged innocently. "Well, you know . . . if I want to be a real journalist someday, I just can't get my experience covering the chess club and investigating the cafeteria's mystery meat," he replied. He offered the cop a tense grin. 

"I hate to do this, officer," Hank said, "but could we get in there one more time?" He glared at Presto. "So we can finally settle this problem?"

The cop checked the clock on the side wall. "It's after hours, boys," he said. "Why don't you come back tomorrow afternoon?"

"We're supposed to go to print tonight, sir," Presto insisted. "If we don't get this now, we're going to have to forget the whole thing. We really need to finish today . . . as long as it's all right with you, that is."

The policeman muttered something unintelligible and dug the log book out from beneath the counter. "Sign here, please," he said. "And remember what I told you yesterday, son." He pointed a warning finger at Hank.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Hank replied as both he and Presto filled their names into the book. "I promise we'll be as brief as we can."

Hank walked toward the rear hallway with Presto at his heels. His heart was pounding, even as he breathed a sigh of partial relief. The cop hadn't asked to see identification, and Hank couldn't believe that stroke of good luck. Their act must have been very distracting, because Presto wouldn't have been able to fake the fact that he wasn't 18 yet. 

As they made their way to the lockup door, Hank put his hand on Presto's shoulder. "I'm impressed, buddy," he said quietly.

"And I think I'm going to throw up," Presto replied. He did look a little green. "I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do anything like that again."

"The hard part's almost over," Hank said as he waited for the droning buzz that would allow them access to the lockup door. 

The buzz sounded and the door clicked. Hank curled his fist around the handle. "Ready?" he asked.

"Will it matter if I say no?" Presto replied with a weak grin. Hank returned it and pulled the door open. 

The cell room was exactly as Hank had left it the previous day – the color, the lighting, and the single inhabitant of the jail. He was sitting on one of the benches, his long legs at an odd angle due to his unnatural height. It might have been a comical sight if the situation hadn't been so urgent. 

Venger raised his head as the two boys made an abrupt entrance and stood at his full height to face them.

Hank ignored him for the time being. His eyes scanned the area until he found what he was looking for: a numbered keypad was on the wall beside a set of levers – one for each cell. A code was probably required to release the lock on the levers and open the cell doors.

"Presto," he said, but the Magician was already making his way toward it.

"On it," Presto replied.

Hank turned back to Venger and saw that the archmage was regarding him suspiciously. He still had that ever-present look of rage, but it seemed mixed with an odd curiosity. "What is the meaning of this?" he rumbled.

"Prison break," Hank replied tersely. He kept his voice carefully neutral. 

A distant sound caught Hank's ears. He was able to identify it as the ringing of a telephone in the front room. He could only assume that was Sheila, attempting to buy them some time. At least he hoped it was.

"Four digit access," Presto said as he hovered over the keypad. "This isn't going to be easy. Is there a security camera in here?"

Hank scanned the corners where the walls met the ceiling. "Probably," he answered. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about that now. "Just keep working."

"Ranger!" Venger's resonant voice drummed against Hank's panicked brain like a sledgehammer. Venger curled both hands around the bars that held him and glared at Hank. "I demand an explanation."

Hank stepped toward the bars, a little too preoccupied with the situation around them to worry about what Venger might do if he got too close. "Apparently the Realm needs you back," he said through gritted teeth. "Don't ask me why, but we've become the recovery crew."

Venger raised an eyebrow, but maintained his air of suspicion. "You would defy the authority of your world to release me?" he said. "Why?"

Hank got as close to the bars as he dared and met the dark mage's crimson eyes. "I'm _not_ – doing this – for _you_ ," he spat darkly.

"Presto," he asked as he turned from Venger back to his friend, whose fingers were flying furiously over the keypad. "How's it going?"

"There are 10,000 possible combinations here, Hank," Presto muttered nervously. "The odds of finding the right one in the next two minutes aren't so good." There was a thin line of sweat trickling down the side of his temple.

"Keep trying," Hank said and he moved back toward the door and strained to listen for anything emanating from the other side. After a few minutes, he heard some vague evidence of movement, then the low sound of conversation. It didn't sound like Sheila and Hank's stomach did a flip-flop.

"Presto," he muttered.

"I know."

"You're going to have to hurry."

"I _know_."

"We're running out of time."

Presto chewed his bottom lip as the next set of numbers he tried yielded no results.

Soon, Hank heard the sound of approaching footsteps though the door. His stomach leapt, then plummeted. "Someone's coming," he hissed.

Presto shook his head defeatedly, even as his fingers continued to fly. "Nothing," he said. "I'm getting nothing."

Hank heard the footsteps stop right outside the room, followed almost immediately by the telltale buzz overhead, which preceded the release of the door's lock. Hank shot away from the door as though he had been released from his own energy bow. He grabbed Presto by the shoulders and wrenched him away from the keypad. They both spun around and stopped in the center of the room as the door swung open.

The policeman stepped through and Hank tried desperately to hide the fact that he was panting, hard. The cop looked from the two boys to Venger, whose sinister eyes glared balefully at everyone in the room.

"Okay," the cop said with a shake of his head. "This ends right now, kids. I'm going to need you to come with me."

"But—" Hank began.

"But nothing, son," the cop said. "The newspaper thing is all well and good, but don't think I can't see what's really going on here."

Presto gulped hard. "Y-You can?" he asked.

"If you think I can't recognize adolescent curiosity when I see it, you've got another thing coming. I've got kids of my own, you know. But this is a jail, boys, not a circus."

Hank's brain went into a tailspin and his heart sank. This was worse than he could have imagined – the cop didn't think they were felons, he thought they were nosy _children_. And if that was the case, he'd never let them in there again. They'd never get another chance.

Frantically, Hank wracked his brain, trying to think of a way out of this.

"Besides," the cop said. "I need you kids to clear out of here anyway. I have to get this guy processed for release."

Hank's eyes darted to the policeman's face. "What?" he asked. His voice came out sounding a lot weaker than he'd intended.

The cop took both Hank and Presto by the arm and guided them toward the lockup door. "It seems our friend here made bail," he explained in a slightly irritated tone. "Which means you need to clear out while I do my job." He led them to the hallway beyond the door and released their arms. Before turning back to the cell, he leaned in toward them. "I know things like this are a curiosity, boys," he said in an understanding whisper, "but take my advice: don't go looking for trouble like this." He cocked his head in the direction of the cells, indicating Venger. "Real life isn't like the movies. Guys like that are bad news, and a sure way to get yourselves hurt." He clamped them both firmly on the shoulders and turned back toward the lockup.

Presto turned to Hank. "I . . . I don't get it," he whispered. "They're just letting him go?"

Hank shook his head, bewildered. "Someone paid his bail," he said. 

It seemed such a simple solution, and yet it was one that hadn't really been possible. Because to do so not only meant obtaining the necessary money, but also being willing to voluntarily associate themselves with Venger – something they had been very careful to avoid doing from the beginning.

"But that's crazy," Presto said. "Who could have possibly . . ."

His words trailed off at the same moment that Hank looked down the lockup hallway into the main room beyond. The Ranger's breath stilled in his throat.

Standing at the front desk – arms crossed, looking uncharacteristically serious – was Eric.

 

_To be continued . . ._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Dungeon Master would have you return to a world you despise just to keep your weapons away from me?" Venger asked. There was a cruel taunt in his voice. "Perhaps you should reconsider what he is asking of you. Think, Ranger, of all you would stand to lose in consenting to his request."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter of _Balance of Power_. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Some final credits will be listed at the end.

Hank couldn't speak. He could barely breathe as he and Presto slowly made their way to the main vestibule of the police station. He stared unblinkingly at Eric until they reached the spot where he was standing on the other side of the counter.

Eric looked serious. Even, Hank thought, a little hostile. He returned their gazes wordlessly until they reached him, then he turned his attention toward several sheets of paper piled on top of the counter in front of him. He leafed through them and applied his signature to a few with a sharp and aggressive hand. 

Hank watched the motion in stunned silence. Then he finally cleared his throat and spoke. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a thick voice.

"Making sure I only have to pay one bail instead of five," Eric muttered without looking up. He signed the last page as though he were slicing into it, then finally straightened to meet Hank's eyes. "You guys didn't actually think your little prison break scheme was going to work, did you?"

A corner of Hank's mouth quirked involuntarily. "Foolishly optimistic, I guess," he said.

"Seriously stupid is more like it," Eric replied. But his voice lacked any bite and his feet were shuffling awkwardly on the floor. He rolled his eyes evasively and cast them downward. Hank had a feeling that every remark, every action, was simply Eric's attempt at a disguised apology. And he appreciated it more than the other boy knew.

Hank placed his hand on his friend's shoulder and Eric looked up again. "Thanks," Hank said.

Eric shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

But it was, and Hank knew it. Eric's gesture had been a simple one, but in doing it he had risked just as much – if not more – than the rest of them. Perhaps he hadn't risked a criminal record, but in signing his name to those papers, he openly and willingly affiliated not only himself, but also his family with someone who _was_ an alleged criminal – a man who Eric rightly despised and to whom he owed nothing. To free someone his family didn't even know – and would never have associated with if they did – Eric had risked the tarnish of that family name, something that Hank knew Eric always held in such high regard. If they made it home again after this, Eric's family wouldn't be happy, but Hank and the others would not be in any trouble with the law. Eric had, for all intents and purposes, taken the proverbial bullet for them.

It was most certainly a big deal.

Hank squeezed Eric's shoulder once more before allowing his hand to drop. Eric managed a small, sad smile and shrugged again as though to reaffirm his air of indifference.

"What changed your mind?" Hank asked.

Eric looked at him seriously. His lips set into a grim line. "The shield," he said. "It's mine."

"Huh?" Presto muttered.

"The shield," Eric retorted with a roll of his eyes. "I want it back, by the way," he added in an aside to Hank.

Hank held up his hands in an " _it's all yours_ " gesture.

"Anyway," Eric continued, "Dungeon Master gave me that shield and I guess I realized . . . it's because that's my job: I'm the one who's supposed to save everybody." He made a sharp huffing noise and added, "Even if it is from your own stupidity."

Hank looked at Presto and they shared a knowing grin.

"Besides," Eric said, "while we weren't talking to each other I guess I had some time to think. And I remembered something Dungeon Master said . . . you know, about lessons we had previously learned." Eric's feet shifted on the floor again, and he stared intently at his toes. "I realized you guys could have left me there too – during that whole bogbeast thing. You had the chance to stay at home, but you didn't. You came back for me." He met their eyes again with another ineffectual shrug. "I guess it wouldn't have felt right if I didn't do the same for you."

Hank smiled and clapped his hand on Eric's shoulder again. "Welcome back, buddy," he said.

Eric grinned. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks."

Presto glanced back toward the lockup anxiously. "Wasn't that officer suspicious, though?" he asked Eric in a hushed voice. "I mean, we're all just teenagers. Didn't he wonder why someone like you would be springing a guy like Venger from jail?"

Eric glanced up thoughtfully. "Probably," he answered. "But if there's one thing I know about _this_ world, it's that the wheels of beaurocracy are greased a lot more easily when cold, hard cash is involved. Besides, bail money can come from anywhere, as long as the one posting it makes sure the 'accused' shows up for his hearing."

Presto chewed his lip. "Somehow I don't see that happening," he said.

"Yeah," Eric replied with a grim chuckle. Then his face suddenly blanched with a fearful expression. "Oh man, my dad's seriously going to kill me."

Hank heard a noise coming from the lockup. "Don't worry," he said quickly to Eric. "We'll think of some way to handle that when the time comes. For now, let's finish this."

Eric nodded stiffly, and some of the color returned to his face. He squared his shoulders in time for the three boys to see the policeman reemerge from the lockup area, towing a furious looking Venger alongside him. The dark mage was once again dressed in his familiar robes, but he carried his horned helmet sanctimoniously at his side. The cop gripped the elbow of his other arm and led him toward the desk where Hank and the others waited.

"Unhand me, foolish one," Venger sneered viscously, "or suffer the consequences!"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Eric bellowed, drawing Venger's attention to him. "Knock that off, Ven— er, . . . Uncle _Vern_. I don't have a problem telling him to lock you right back up again. No one else in the family even cares that you're here."

Venger's eyes flashed violently at Eric. "You dare, Cavalier?"

"You're the one being too . . . uh, _cavalier_ , if you ask me," Eric countered. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm only here because I'm sick of hearing about you from the kids at school." He turned a pleading gaze toward the cop. "Can we just get this over with?" he asked. "Please?"

"Sure, son," he replied. His eyes fell on Presto and Hank. "You boys know each other?"

"Unfortunately," Eric grumbled as he signed the last form the policeman slid in front of him. "From school. Don't think I won't be hearing about this endlessly tomorrow."

The cop stacked the papers neatly on the countertop. Then he turned and walked to the rear wall of the office to file them in the cabinet there.

After the policeman had turned away, Venger stepped threateningly toward Eric, who drew back with a tiny squeak. Hank, however, stepped between them almost immediately, followed half a second later by an extremely nervous looking Presto. 

"Back off, Venger," Hank warned. "I mean it."

Venger snarled at them. "Explain your impudence, Cavalier," he rumbled lowly.

Hank could feel Eric trembling against his back. But when the Cavalier spoke, his voice held a confidence belied by his frightened body. "The explanation is you're in _my_ kingdom now, Horn-Head," he said. "If you want out, you do what we say. Got it?"

Venger emitted a noncommittal growl, but stood still and said nothing further. His eyes, however, glinted with fury.

The cop returned and addressed Eric. "That should be everything, son," he said. "There were no personal effects other than that getup he's wearing. And the animal that was confiscated."

Eric nodded. "That's been taken care of," he said. 

Hank and Presto shared a wide-eyed look.

The cop seemed sympathetic. "Good luck, son," he said.

"Yeah," Eric muttered, putting on his best look of long-suffering embarrassment. "Thanks."

He turned and started walking toward the door. Venger glared at Hank who jerked his head, indicating that the archmage should follow. He did, and Hank and Presto brought up the rear.

As they reached the sidewalk, their steps quickened. Darkness had fallen while they had been inside and Hank had to strain his eyes to catch sight of the others. Sheila and Bobby had, apparently, been looking for them since they appeared almost immediately. The Thief looked breathless with worry.

"You made it!" she exclaimed. "I tried to keep him on the phone long enough to buy you some time, but he kept trying to transfer me. What happened?"

Before Hank could answer, the sound of running footsteps behind them caused the group to turn quickly. Diana had come racing from her car. She looked as ready for action as she had ever been in the Realm. Her eyes were fierce, and in her hand was the short length of her javelin. Working or not, she looked ready to use it if necessary.

"Easy, Diana," Hank said. "We're okay."

Diana glared at Venger suspiciously, still gripping her staff tightly. Suddenly her eyes fell on the person directly to the archmage's right and her scowl melted into shock. "Eric?" she said. "What are you doing here?"

Eric shifted uncomfortably and Hank saw a flash of embarrassment cross his face. He wasn't sure the Cavalier would want to delve into the entire explanation a second time. He was about to step in with an abbreviated version when Eric spoke for himself.

"Well," he grumbled to Diana, "I guess it's like you said: We always stuck together before, right?"

Diana's features softened. She placed her hand on Eric's shoulder and drew him down, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Eric visibly swallowed and rubbed his fingers against the spot.

Diana grinned broadly. "You bet," she said.

"Okay, everyone," Hank said. "We're not out of the woods yet. We need to find a way to get ourselves back to the Realm."

"Let's start by getting ourselves out of sight," Diana suggested as she started walking toward the shadowy end of the street where her car was parked. The others fell into step behind her.

Venger emitted a low growl as he prowled alongside the children. He had donned his helmet since leaving the police station and now looked more like the force of evil they had come to know. 

"You have not yet explained to me why you have released me, Ranger," he said dubiously to Hank.

Hank shot an angry glare at him as they trudged through the darkness. "Let's just say I'm doing this as a favor to someone who deserves it a lot more than you, Venger," he replied. "The Realm is falling into ruin because you're not there to keep a hold on all the evil you had under your control while you were there. You need to go back to put things into balance again."

"And why must you accompany me?" Venger grated.

Hank scowled again. "Because the weapons need to go back too," he said. "And if you think we'd just send them back with you, you're crazy."

"Dungeon Master would have you return to a world you despise just to keep your weapons away from me?" Venger asked. There was a cruel taunt in his voice. "Perhaps you should reconsider what he is asking of you. Think, Ranger, of all you would stand to lose in consenting to his request."

Hank rounded on Venger. "First of all," he retorted darkly, "Dungeon Master didn't 'request' that we do anything. This was our decision. Secondly, Dungeon Master has given us more reason to trust him than you ever have, Venger. We don't owe you anything."

"And yet you are helping me," Venger said with a scornful grin on his lips.

"Yes, we are," agreed Hank. "Maybe _you_ should be the one to remember that."

Hank fell into step with the others as they reached Diana's car.

"So how are we going to do this?" Presto asked.

"Eventually, we're going to have to get into the park," Hank said. "That's not going to be easy."

"Yes, it will," Eric replied. 

Hank shot him an astonished look.

"I told you," the Cavalier said, "grease a few palms and things get a lot easier. We don't have a lot of time, though. And someone is eventually going to notice the animal trailer parked outside the gate." He shook his head and grumbled absently, "I've never paid so much for a horse that's not even mine in my life."

Everyone stared at him. Even Venger's expression ranked somewhere between disdain and astonishment. Eric did not waste the opportunity and smirked smugly at him. "Like I said," he droned, "my kingdom, my way." 

"Speaking of which," Sheila said, "Dungeon Master said we carry our way back to the Realm with us. He was probably talking about what we would have to do once we got back to the ride."

"But it doesn't make any sense," Bobby interjected. "We never carried anything with us – except our weapons."

"Maybe that was what he meant," Diana offered.

"But our weapons don't work here," Bobby said. 

"If only we had a way to recharge them," Sheila added. "Like we did at the Hall of Bones."

Presto gasped and Hank spun around to face him. The Magician's eyes were wide. He stood frozen there for a moment, then in a swift motion he grabbed Diana's wrist.

"What is it, Presto," she asked.

He looked at all of them and Hank saw a small smile blooming on the corner of his mouth. "I think I have an idea," he said. He turned to Diana. "Can you give me a ride?"

She nodded mutely for a moment, then said, "Where?"

"My house," he answered. "I need to get something."

"Okay," Hank announced. "If you do that, we'll head over to the park and make sure we've got a way in."

"We'll meet you there," Diana said as she and Presto jumped into her car. Everyone else retrieved the items they had placed in her trunk, including their weapons, clothing, and supplies. Then Diana started the engine and sped off in the direction of Presto's house.

Hank and the others made their way to the amusement park, which was not a far distance from the police station. It didn't take long before they spotted the sleek black trailer that Eric had said contained Venger's imposing nightmare. Occasionally, the trailer would rattle as the beast inside expressed its displeasure with being confined.

The group of Young Ones and Venger approached it and the nightmare stilled immediately, almost as though it could sense the presence of its master. Eric swallowed, unlocked the rear doors and lowered the ramp. The animal stepped down and regarded the young humans with a snort. A billow of smoke escaped its nostrils. Eric uttered a nervous chuckle and backed away from the creature.

"Eric," Hank said, "what kind of excuse did you give for why we needed to get into the park tonight?"

"I didn't," Eric explained, collecting himself as he put some distance between him and the nightmare. "I just paid some low-wage security guard to be away from the gates for a little while. No muss, no fuss, no unnecessary questions." He looked around. "But there will be if we have to wait much longer."

At almost that moment, the sound of running feet could be heard behind them. Hank turned to see Diana and Presto hurrying across the parking lot. The latter was struggling under the weight of a bulky looking box with what appeared to be a kind of mirror on top. Diana carried a pair of rucksacks and both their weapons.

"Sorry," she said. She was not even out of breath. "I wanted to park on the street, just in case."

"Let's go," Presto added, not nearly as composed as Diana. His words were nearly lost as he sucked great gulps of air into his lungs.

"What's that?" Eric asked, indicating the box.

"I'll explain later," Presto replied. He shifted its weight in his arms. "Come on."

The Young Ones made their way quietly through the main gates of the amusement park. Venger walked in their midst, the nightmare striding obediently at his side. As they neared the Fantasy Land area of the park, Hank kept an eye out for flashlight beams or any other signs of park security. There was no way of knowing how much longer they could go without being spotted.

They walked in complete silence for several more minutes, until Bobby stopped and pointed to an area ahead of them. "There it is, you guys," he said. "The Dungeons & Dragons ride."

Hank took in the sight before them. Everything looked very much the same as it had been two nights ago. Much of the debris from the ferris wheel had been cleared away, however, and the scene was now marked with yellow strips of tape bearing the word "CAUTION." A few other areas were sectioned off by orange pylons and A-frame barricades. The ride itself looked untouched on the exterior, but it did bear a sign just outside the grinning mouth of the dragon:

_KEEP OUT  
Ride Closed for Repairs  
We are sorry for the inconvenience._

Hank approached the coaster's break run and gazed down the track into the gaping tunnel of the entrance. He made another perfunctory scan of the area around them and jumped down.

"Looks like we're going to have to do this one on foot," he said. He offered his hand to Sheila and helped her to step down onto the track beside him. The rest of his friends clambered to join them. Venger mounted his nightmare and the creature leapt effortlessly onto the runway. 

"Follow me," Hank said in a low voice. He hefted the backpack on his shoulder and gripped the weapon he held in his other hand. Everyone walked at a steady pace into the gullet of the dragon. 

Once inside, everything looked even stranger than it had when the ride had been functioning. The fire-breathing dragons and menacing monsters looked shadowy and eerie as they sat stationary in the inky darkness. Hank dug a flashlight out of his bag and clicked it on. A haze of dust motes hung trapped in the beam of light it created. 

Deeper into the ride, many of the mechanical creatures began to look distorted. Several were scorched and broken. Melted plastic created an ooze of deformity down the entire length of one, while limbs and torsos bent at odd angles in others. Hank had to sidestep a gaping section of track, which had been completely obliterated into a wide hole. He signaled for the others to move around it.

 _This must be the damage Venger did_ , Hank thought. _Before he lost his powers._

Somewhere around what Hank guessed to be the middle of the ride, he stopped. He turned to face the others and shone his flashlight into several dark corners above their heads, making sure the area was safe and not in danger of collapsing. After all, who knew the extent of the damage Venger had done.

"This seems like as good a place as any," he said. "Presto, what have you got?"

Presto finally set down the oversized box he had been carrying. Hank noticed that it was actually more like a large wooden crate. One side of it was open, giving it the look of a crude display case. From it, Presto pulled a clunky-looking metal switch with two thin, curly wires, which he attached to a pair of metal rods on top of the crate. 

Presto reached into the crate again and pulled out a few more items: random pieces of metal, wires, what looked to be a miniature radio, even a handful of small plants. With an unhappy grumble, Presto simply tossed these things into the shadows behind him. "So much for my submission to the Junior Academy of Science competition," he muttered as he finished hollowing out the box.

"You going to let us in on the plan, pal?" Hank coaxed and Presto sat back on his heels.

"Okay," he said, looking up at them, "this is a kind of enclosed exhibit. I built it to work as a fully-functional environment powered completely by solar energy. These right here . . ." He indicated the objects on top of the box, which Hank had originally thought were mirrors. ". . . are photovoltaic panels. They're used to convert solar energy into electricity. I was going to use it to power this entire display box like a miniature house. Run the electronics, grow plants, even cook with it—"

Eric pressed the flat of his hand into his skull and groaned. "You realize we're not at the science fair right now, don't you, Presto? Get to the point."

"Yeah . . . right," Presto said, a little flustered. "So solar power can be used to generate anything from light to heat to an electrical current. And I just thought, maybe that's what we need to solve our problem."

Hank knew that Presto had honed in on something, he just couldn't figure out what it was. Everyone else's face must have looked as blank as Hank's felt because Presto sighed a little and got to his feet. 

"Look," he said, "when Sheila said before that she wished there was a way to recharge our weapons like we did in the Hall of Bones, it just clicked. Like when Bobby said something yesterday about dead batteries. This is it, guys." He motioned toward the crate at his feet. "That's what solar energy does. Our weapons don't work here. But maybe all they really need is another good, healthy charge."

Everyone looked at each other. Hank could see the hope, but also the uncertainty on their faces. He couldn't help but feel extremely doubtful himself. After all, this was Earth, not the Realm. And their weapons were magic, not electronic. 

No one said anything, however, until Eric piped up again. "Um," he said, "not to rain on the parade of nerd-dom here, but did it occur to you that we're standing in the pitch-black tunnel of Dante's roller coaster in the middle of the night? There's no sunlight!"

"Ah!" Presto said airily. "We don't need it. _That_ is the point. If it's harnessed properly, solar power is completely storable, just like any other source of energy. And before we went to the Realm, I had been working on this for weeks. I have enough juice in here to power my enclosed environment for at least a few hours. There should be enough for what we need."

Hank wanted to believe Presto. Eric, however, didn't bother to hide the fact that he remained clearly unconvinced. "What makes you think it's even going to work?" he asked.

Presto bobbed his head from side to side, as though weighing the question. "I think it will work, Eric," he said finally, "because I remembered the same thing you did about what Dungeon Master told us. You know: recall a lesson we had previously learned. And I remembered what he said the last time we needed the weapons recharged." He placed his hand on the clunky transformer that was attached by wires to the top of the box. "When in darkness, look to the light."

Presto flipped the switch with his thumb and the inside of the box blazed with a blinding white light. After so long in the darkness of the ride, Hank had to shield his eyes from the brightness of it. He also felt a definite warmth radiating from within the box.

Venger's nightmare reared and screeched at the sight of it. Presto quickly flipped the switch off and the animal snorted and stomped the ground in agitation. From astride his steed, Venger raised a hand toward the now-dormant box. "What magic is this?" he snarled.

Presto stood frozen for a moment with his hand still on the switch. The nightmare's reaction must have startled him. Then he shook his head. "Uh, it's not actually magic. It's science," he replied. "But," he added with a shrug, "you know what they say: 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.'"

"You actually think that shining an oversized flashlight on the weapons is going to get them working again?" Eric asked.

"It's not just light," Presto said. "It's power. Light, heat, and electrical."

"It's also all we've got," added Hank. "So unless you've got a better idea, I say we give it a try."

"You are a fool, Magician," Venger sneered. The group of Young Ones turned to face him. "You are all fools. Your world does not have the magic necessary to empower your weapons. We shall all be trapped here."

Diana glared at him. "Trapped?" she said, crossing her arms. "Speak for yourself, big guy."

"I'm actually not so sure about that," Presto replied to Venger. "We probably just don't have the kind of magic you or the weapons are used to. Besides," he added, "if you want to get technical, solar energy doesn't come from this world."

"It's at least worth a try," Sheila said encouragingly. "Even if it just works long enough for us to do what we came for."

The crate was big, but still not an ideal fit for all the weapons. The bow and the club needed to be slanted in diagonally, and they still hung out on one end. Diana's staff fit better – since it was stuck at one of its shorter lengths – but not by much. The cloak and the hat folded much more easily and were stuffed in the back to make room for Eric's shield, which was carefully balanced at the very mouth of the crate.

Presto took a deep breath and picked up the transformer from on top of the box. He placed his thumb on the switch. "Cross your fingers, everybody," he said. "Here goes nothing."

He flipped the switch and the light blazed forth from inside the box once more. Each of the weapons were blanketed in it, and Hank could again feel the steady warmth pulsing from inside. They watched and waited as the weapons sat within the box of captured sunlight.

Bobby shifted at Hank's side. "How do we know if it's even working?" he asked.

Just then, a popping noise sounded from inside the box. It was followed by another, and an even brighter flash. A shower of sparks shot into the air. Venger's nightmare reared again and shrieked as an erratic explosion of lights flashed throughout the box like a roman candle. 

There was a crack and another small explosion as one of the solar panels on top of the box shattered into pieces. Presto made a strangled noise of protest at the destruction of his project. There was an electrical buzzing in the air like a swarm of motorized wasps and Hank could actually see an energized current race up the length of the wires that attached the box to the switch in Presto's hands.

"Argh!" Presto cried out as the metal transformer sparked in his grip. He dropped the switch and fell back. It continued to send small showers of light into the air from where it lay in the dust.

"Presto!" Diana exclaimed as she dropped to his side. The Magician was shaking out his singed fingers.

Hank reached for the switch but drew his hand back immediately as it sent another shower of sparks into the air. Instead, Hank kicked at it with his foot until he managed to hit the button and shut the power down.

"Well, that was terrifying," Eric grumbled. He scanned the walls around them. "Lucky you didn't burn the place down. This whole ride is probably one big fire hazard . . . "

It was then that Hank noticed the light. The power to Presto's machine had been shut off, but a steady glow remained in the shadowy darkness of the tunnel. Hank turned to the box and saw that it was still emitting a light from the inside. But it wasn't from the solar device.

"The weapons," Sheila breathed. "I think it worked."

"It worked?" Presto asked as he staggered up off the ground with a little help from Diana. He sounded almost surprised. "It worked!" he exclaimed with an explosion of jubilant laughter. "I can't believe it!"

" _You_ can't believe it?" Eric cried. "This was _your_ plan!"

Presto grinned excitedly. "So now what?" he asked.

" _Now what_?" Eric countered with even more bewilderment. "Hey, Mr. Wizard, I thought you were running this show!"

Hank reached into the crate and drew out his bow. His friends collected their own weapons as well. Instantly he felt the familiar surge of energy that told him the bow was working. He also knew they didn't have long to figure out what to do, because it was only a matter of time before each of the weapons lost their powers again.

_Look to yourselves – for you carry your way with you._

A sharp tug on his arm forced Hank to look down. The bow quivered in his grip of its own volition. It wasn't the first time the weapon had done this and Hank watched it with interest. A moment later the weapon yanked harder in his grip, drawing his arm more and more toward shoulder-height – to the firing position.

The last time his weapon had been so insistent, firing it had led Hank and the others exactly where they had needed to go at the time – and eventually to a way home, even if they had decided not to stay. It seemed only logical to go along with it now. They didn't have a lot of time or options.

"We carry our way with us," Hank mused aloud. "I guess we should let our weapons do the navigating, then." He reached for the invisible bowstring.

"Uh, Hank!" Eric said with obvious alarm. He ducked behind his shield, which was also glowing with the power it had held in the Realm. "Enclosed space! Close quarters! I'm not so sure firing that thing in here is such a great—"

But the bow was clearly adamant. The fiery string had appeared even before Hank's fingers closed around it. The weapon jerked one last time and directed Hank's aim toward a corner of the ceiling. He drew a flaming arrow all the way back to his cheek and loosed.

The arrow sailed up to the ceiling and lit the entire tunnel brightly. The moment he released it, Hank noticed a definite difference in the bow in his hand. It felt dull and powerless again, almost as though he could feel the energy leave it as the arrow cleared the handle. The airborne projectile was now all that was left of the weapon's magic.

It hit the ceiling and swiftly changed direction, slamming into the wall and glancing off again. Eric let out a panicked yelp as the arrow continued to ricochet dangerously throughout the entire area just above their heads. Everyone ducked and the arrow moved faster. Its tail blurred behind it, creating a star-like design as the arrow zoomed and rebounded from wall to wall.

"What's it doing?" Presto called over the hum of charged energy in the air. He turned to Hank with a worried look.

It was as though his words had somehow caught the arrow's attention. Immediately after Presto spoke, the golden dart ricocheted one last time and headed toward the ground, straight for him.

"Presto!" Sheila cried in warning and Presto glanced up to see it bearing down on him.

"AHHH!" he screamed, thrusting his arms out instinctively to protect himself. And along with them, his hat.

The arrow disappeared as the hat swallowed it. The force of it sent Presto toppling backward again into Diana. "Whoa!" he gasped. "Sorry."

But Hank saw that Diana was looking elsewhere and his eyes followed her gaze. In Presto's hands was the hat, glowing with the magical light that had been so familiar in the Realm. He was holding the mouth of the weapon closed, and inside Hank could see evidence of the arrow – still ricocheting off the walls of its new conical prison.

"Presto," he said. "Your hat."

Presto gasped and got back to his feet. He looked uncertain for a moment. Then, probably with the same instinct that had caused Hank to fire his weapon in the first place, he opened the mouth of the hat. From it, the arrow emerged again – now in the shape of a small glowing sphere. Its color had changed slightly from the gold of the arrow to a pale green. Hank noticed that as soon as the sphere had cleared the brim of Presto's hat, the weapon lost its glow, looking as dull and powerless as Hank's bow now felt.

The sphere continued to move – a slow-motion version of the wild rebounding the arrow had instigated. This time, however, instead of hitting the walls, it seemed drawn toward the power of the Young Ones' weapons. It headed next toward Eric, who was standing opposite Presto. He took a step back, looking nervous. But regardless he raised his shield and allowed the sphere to bump against it. Immediately the shield lost its glow as the magic left it, and the sphere changed from pale green to a brighter orange. It also grew in size.

Diana stood ready for it as it neared her. Her face said that she seemed to be gaining some understanding of what they were supposed to do. She brandished her staff and it increased in length. As the sphere approached her, she spun the weapon in her hands. It glowed brightly as the sphere glanced off it, then it shrank again and dimmed as the magic transferred itself. The hovering orb was now colored the same subtle jade as the staff. It was also bigger.

Sheila unfolded the cloak in her hands and approached the sphere as it floated away from Diana. She looked at Hank uncertainly, and he understood why: Her weapon was not exactly offensive. It was difficult to guess as to how she should use it in this situation. She must have come to a decision, however, because, in the same way Hank and the others had seemed to know what to do with their weapons, she tossed her cloak fully over the hovering orb. Again, the sphere grew in size and Hank could see a glow of violet emanating from beneath Sheila's cloak. She removed the cape and fitted it to her shoulders.

The sphere continued the final leg of its journey as it slowly approached Bobby. The boy got an impish grin on his face as he struck a batter's stance and drew his club all the way back. The tip of his tongue poked playfully out of the corner of his mouth and he squinted with concentration.

A collective gasp went up and Eric ducked behind his now-powerless shield.

"Careful, Bobby!" Sheila warned.

Bobby reared back and swung, coming full-stop just shy of the hovering sphere. Hank and the others let out a shared sigh of relief. "Just kidding, sis," the boy said with a wink, and followed through with a gentle bunt against the side of the sphere.

The orb grew one final time and turned a brilliant white with the combined magic of all the weapons. It stopped moving and hovered in the middle of the circle the Young Ones had formed around it. Hank eyed it curiously and, after a few moments, he approached it. He reached out his hand.

"Don't _touch_ it!" Eric wailed. But Hank didn't know how else they were supposed to discover what to do next. He offered Eric – as well as the others – a calming glance, them pressed his palm against the surface of the sphere.

It wasn't as hot as it looked; in fact, it felt only slightly warm, but very soothing. Hank could sense the same hum of power that he usually felt when he used his bow. But still it wasn't _doing_ anything. The Ranger had thought it would give them another sign . . . form a portal . . . something.

It was then that he remembered . . . they weren't the only ones trying to get back.

With his hand still pressed to the sphere, Hank looked up to where Venger stood. The archmage had dismounted his nightmare and was now glaring at all of them with a stony expression. The others turned to follow Hank's eyes.

A million thoughts ran through Hank's head at once, but they all came down to one thing: To return to the Realm, they were going to have to give Venger the power from their weapons. That was the final piece to the puzzle – although none of them had thought to consider it earlier. 

The weapons had been briefly recharged, and the product of that was now floating in their midst as a ball of pure magic. Who else was left to use it besides Venger? But an even more dangerous thought was: What would he do?

Destroying all of them and taking their weapons for himself had been the desire that had driven Venger since the Young Ones had first entered the Realm. There was no reason as to why that would be any different now. It had been his entire purpose in following them to their world in the first place. What was worse, they would be completely helpless to stop him.

He could destroy them all right here, right now, then take their weapons back to the Realm with him and conquer that world as well.

Of course they had helped him earlier that night – saved him from a fate that was, as Hank had said, probably worse than anything Venger could have imagined: to be imprisoned and powerless in an alien, insignificant world. But a lot hinged upon trusting Venger's sense of honor and fair play, and Hank didn't have a great deal of hope for that. There was no guarantee Venger wouldn't double-cross them . . . not when he was faced with the opportunity to simply use them to get exactly what he wanted.

There was very little time to consider the options. The magical sphere would probably only last for a short while in this world. They wouldn't get another chance. And they had already come this far . . .

Hank scowled and met Venger's eyes. "We carry our way with us," he said. "I guess that means _all_ of us."

Venger stepped forward as though he had been waiting for that. The Young Ones broke open their circle to let him through – stepping back apprehensively and clutching weapons that didn't work. They crowded behind Hank as Venger came to stand before him. 

The archmage glared at the Ranger, and Hank met his eyes with stony defiance. There was nothing to say; any words of warning would be futile. Either Venger would remember they had helped him or he wouldn't. He would either care or he wouldn't. He would either destroy them or he wouldn't.

Eric whimpered nervously from somewhere behind Hank.

The Ranger gripped his bow tightly, lowered his hand from the sphere, and stepped away.

Venger raised both his hands and placed them against the side of the glowing orb. Suddenly an even brighter light filled the cavernous tunnel of the Dungeons & Dragons ride as the sphere reacted to Venger's touch. Hank watched as the sphere divided in two. Each half became transparent and barely substantial as Venger's hands began to absorb them. The magic flowed swiftly up the length of his arms.

Venger's hands started to glow with the energy which had become dangerously familiar to Hank and his friends by now. The archmage flexed his fingers into fists, visibly reveling in the power that had just been reawakened in him. He looked down at the Young Ones as though remembering they were there. A smile curled a corner of his mouth.

Hank took a deep breath and unflinchingly met Venger's eyes. He gripped his weapon, even as he knew it would not save him. Venger raised his hands and an explosion of scarlet light filled Hank's vision. He heard his friends scream.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

When Hank became aware of his surroundings, he realized he was lying prone on the ground. He also knew he was outside. It was still dark, but a cool wind stirred the air. It created a whistling sound, like breeze over a bottle. Hank raised his face with a groan and saw the high walls of a familiar canyon. He had to blink and rub his eyes to be sure, but when they refocused he could definitely make out canyon cliffs in the moonlight.

The combined light of three moons.

All around him, Hank heard the groans of his friends as they struggled to get to their feet. As Hank did the same, he noticed that each of them was now dressed in the clothing they had worn during their time in the Realm. He looked down at his own clothes and saw that, although it had been previously packed in his bag, he was also wearing his green studded leather armor. His eyes settled on his right hand – where his golden bow was still gripped tightly in his fist.

His ears caught a deep huffing sound, and Hank looked up quickly. Several yards away from him and his friends, Venger sat astride his nightmare. The bat-like wings of his cape spread imposingly over his head as he glared impassively down at the Young Ones. Hank felt a thrum of energy in his hand as his weapon responded to his feeling of unease. He wondered how it was possible that he was still holding the weapon at all.

Still, he kept his fingers poised to draw the string if needed.

Venger tilted his head upward slightly and stared down at them. "You have given me my freedom," he said. Then he pointed at the weapons they each still held in their possession. "I leave you with yours. The next time we meet, do not expect the same."

He turned his nightmare and began to walk slowly away.

"You're _welcome_!" Bobby shouted snidely after him. Eric jumped and wrapped his arm around the boy's head and shoulders, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Venger turned and regarded them malignantly. "You have aided me," he acknowledged. "And you have done your part to restore balance to this world. If the Realm is to be destroyed, it will be because _I_ wish it. Now go your way, for we shall meet again."

"Count on it," Hank replied and Venger nodded. He turned away again and spurred his nightmare forward. After only a few steps, they both vanished in a swirl of smoke.

"I don't believe it," Presto breathed. "H-He could have killed us . . . but he didn't."

"And he actually left our weapons," Sheila added.

Hank released a deep breath and felt a tenseness in his shoulders that had been coiling there ever since he realized they would have to trust Venger in order to get back to the Realm. And now . . . they _were_ back. And home felt so very far away again.

"Of course, he dropped us off in the middle of nowhere," Eric remarked bitterly, glaring at the canyon walls with distaste.

"Way to be Mr. Brightside, Cavalier," Diana retorted.

Hank and the others began to turn away from the spot where they had last seen Venger. Wherever they were headed, going in the opposite direction as the archmage seemed the best option for now. The moment they turned, they saw that Dungeon Master was standing in the path before them.

"Oh, no," Eric groaned. "Not you already!"

Dungeon Master regarded the Young Ones with a smile that was both sad and grateful. "Greetings, my friends," he said, ignoring Eric's outburst as usual. 

Hank had the same feeling of déjà vu that he'd felt upon first recognizing the canyon they'd appeared in – the place they had first met the Dungeon Master when they had originally come to the Realm.

"My dear pupils," Dungeon Master continued, "there are not words enough to thank you for what you have done."

Sheila took a step toward him. "Will everything be all right here now, Dungeon Master?" she asked.

He gave her a low nod. "Although there is still much danger and evil ahead, you have saved us all from a terrible fate," he said. "One far worse than even I could have foreseen. Thanks to you, my children, balance will soon return to the Realm."

"Dungeon Master," Hank said, his voice thick with more emotion than he realized had been building, "what do we do now?" It was not a question from a brave leader looking for his next quest, but from a young man who was really still a boy, seeking reassurance.

"Rest for now, my friends," Dungeon Master said. "I know of a place where you can stay in some comfort for a time before you continue your journey. Your unicorn friend will be waiting for you there."

Bobby's eyes lit up with joy. "Uni!" he exclaimed eagerly to Sheila.

Dungeon Master finally turned to Hank. "I feel your pain, Ranger," he said. "Not to mention the acuteness of your loss and your uncertainty as to the difficult choice you have made. But I make you a promise today . . ." He regarded each of them and raised his hands. They glowed brightly with the power he would use to transport them to a place of safety. ". . . You have saved this world, my friends. Know that I shall help you until you have finally returned to yours."

The group vanished together, leaving nothing behind but the soft moan of the wind in the moonlight.

  
**The End**  
(But the adventures in the Realm continue!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Final Credits and Acknowledgements:**  
>  1) This story, and this chapter especially, make several direct references to the cartoon series (even though certain references were to episodes which aired chronologically after "The Box"). The most noteworthy were the following:
> 
> \-- The weapons as a means of magical transportation was established in the episode "The Dragon's Graveyard" by Michael Reaves. As was the method by which the kids could "release" that power. The details were borrowed from that episode, and adapted slightly for this story. (Why mess with canon, after all?)
> 
> \-- Hank's "insistent" bow was borrowed from "Beauty and the Bogbeast" by Jeffrey Scott. Another detail that had already been established by the cartoon itself.
> 
> \-- An assortment of other direct references were made to "The Hall of Bones" by Paul Dini.
> 
> 2) "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." - Arthur C. Clarke (1973)
> 
> 3) My thanks again to Sealgirl, not only for hosting this challenge, but also for being so lovely as to look over each chapter for me before posting. I had a blast writing this, dear! Thanks again!
> 
> 4) Thanks also to Xenutia, who came up with the original suggestion that fed this story.
> 
> 5) And finally, thank you to all readers who help to keep this wonderful series alive, even after all these years! Once I realized this would be not be the satire I'd originally intended, I had a feeling there would be a bittersweet ending in store. I hope it felt authentic for you. I had a great time writing this story, and I thank you so much for taking the time to read it.


End file.
